Black Swan
by Mr G and Me
Summary: Bella is the vampire, and Edward is human. You know how it goes...
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hey! Yeah... a new one. Normally I don't like posting two stories at once, but I haven't written a chapter of Hoodwinked in more than 2 months. With all the fires in my country, mostly in my state, we have been literally living under smoke and ash for almost three months. I suffer from terrible hay fever and sinus, and my first priority has been to keep the migraines at bay. I can barely even look at my computer screen for longer than half an hour. I feel like I've had one terrible, shitty headache for three months straight! Ugh! Anyway, I started this story a couple of months after I started Hoodwinked, and I have almost 21 chapters completed. I don't like keeping people hanging, so I'm hoping this one will make you smile until I can start writing again. I don't know when that will be, so Hoodwinked might be going on a short hiatus.**

**It's a vamp Bella and human Edward. Bella is... not a very nice, generous soul. She's very dark. And sadistic. I think my inner psyche comes out well here ;)**

**Finally, I just can't with Stephenie Meyer's vampology, so I amalgamated several different lore's with hers. I kept the cool skin, no sleeping, and red/gold eyes, but there is no sparkling in the sunshine, no venom, no frenzied feeding, and no bodies that feel like granite. There is fangs (from the canines), beating hearts, flesh and blood bodies that will turn warm for a limited time after feeding, and they turn humans into vampires by feeding them their blood. They, naturally, have super human strength and speed.**

**And _lastly_, lastly, Kim, my Beta, is going to hate me, and when she gets the notification about this she will more than likely headdesk in exasperation. She has not edited this. She has not even set eyes on any chapter of this story. What can I say; I'm rash. Impulsive. Impatient. Set in my ways - yadda yadda...**

**My pre-reader StarryEyedWriter8 has, so thanks, doll, for the support. I'm sorry, Kim... *hides under bed***

**Anywho... I hope you give it a shot, and maybe like it enough to forgive me about Hoodwinked. I'll post this one and two chapters tonight.**

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**Black Swan**

**Prologue.**

Out of all my siblings, I'm closest to Rose. We bonded over the similarity of circumstance.

When a vampire is created, the events and subsequent emotion surrounding their human death will often be carried over with them into immortality.

Both Rose and I were murdered, and the burden of it we carry into eternity with us is tainted by bitterness. Though, bitterness in varying degrees can project very differently in each immortal.

In Rose it comes across as haughtiness, resentment and narcissism. In me it's anger, mistrust and vengeance.

Mostly vengeance.


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: A head's up, you probably won't like this Bella at first. Or at all. She's no wallflower. **

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**Black Swan**

**Chapter 1**

A vampire's transformation will often work miracles, where the turned will awaken unrecognizable from their once human counterparts.

We are the perfect predators, after all. Everything about us is designed to lure our prey. Our innate beauty is no exception.

All of us are beautiful, and as the burning freezes us to the fixed age upon our human death, while reinforcing our skeletal frame and body of muscles with supernatural strength and ability, it will often realign the bone structure of our faces until it is perfectly proportional and symmetrical.

Our teeth are no different, and as the canines are reconstructed and made incorruptible, so too is each incisor and molar; the end result appearing as though we've spent thousands of dollars on cosmetic dentistry.

For some, like Rose for example, the transformation is less bone-crushingly arduous. Rose's already striking features received little more than an airbrushing, and despite her initial unwillingness to embrace her immortality, we often joke that she was born the perfect vampire.

Esme is another example; beautiful in life, and even more so in death.

Carlisle, Jasper and Alice, again, the same truth applies.

Emmett on the other hand required a few touch ups. Though, he already possessed the powerful masculine physique.

I was another matter, entirely.

In life I was an awkward, incredibly plain teenage girl, with bucked teeth, protruding ears and sad, down-turned brown eyes. Unattractive you could say without it being an injustice.

I woke having gone through such a full bodied metamorphosis that when I peered in the mirror there wasn't a single feature of my face I recognized.

I had transformed from the proverbial ugly duckling to a swan, and that's how I got my name. The name my sire, Carlisle, bestowed on me: Isabella Swan.

**. . .**

I was born Isabella Dwyer in Los Angeles in 1935; the second child, and only daughter, of Charlie and Renee. We lived a comfortable middle class existence. My father was the well-respected, hardworking chief of the L.A.P.D.; My mother, the dutiful wife and mother until her untimely death from Tuberculosis in 1939.

The loss of my mother devastated my father; he was never the same after. His work became his therapy, and he was rarely home. The responsibility for my upbringing was often left to my older brother, Jacob, who was five years older.

Jacob was the all-American boy. Tall, handsome and popular. He was the starting pitcher on his high school baseball team, before going on to play on the varsity team at Notre Dame.

And I worshipped him.

Without the presence of a mother in my life, and with only an absentee father and older brother to look up to and emulate, I was somewhat of a tom boy. I carried it with me into high school, and it only added to my social awkwardness. Then the night after graduation I was murdered. At least I would have been had Carlisle not found me.

That's my story.

The obvious blanks are something I don't like to elaborate on. For any reason. Though how I've chosen to live out my immortality leaves more than enough discernible clues. My family knows, of course, and even that's something I find intolerable most days.

I'm the least sociable in our coven; even more so than Jasper, and that's saying something. I have a very large aversion to second-decade humans in every form, yet, they're my blood type of choice; despite how many failed attempts Carlisle's made to turn me _vegan._

I do try. Every once in a blue moon, at least. Sometimes with actual conviction, but mostly from coercion to conform to my maker's interpretation of morality. So, needless to say, I'm usually not too devastated each time I fall off the wagon. And there is nothing more satisfying and fulfilling than the taste and feel of testosterone-laden blood as it slides warmly down your throat, or the futile cries of the subsequent life about to be snuffed out.

I'll take a two-hundred pound quarterback over a grizzly any day of the week, and I usually do.

Carlisle's theory is I need to be desensitized to the same crowds of teenagers who once decided my human life held so little value. It's something else that's repeatedly failed, but the man is nothing if not persistent. Dangerously so, in fact, since more often than not I leave a trail of bloodshed in the wake of each failed attempt at regaining my humanity.

He sends me to the lion's den of high school hierarchy, so I honestly don't know what he expects. I usually don't last a week, and more often than not, I self-sabotage to end it sooner. I have zero empathy for these humans, and that's not about to change anytime soon.

We're starting over. Again. On the other side of the country this time where a potentially missing Prom King or Captain of the basketball team shouldn't draw too many parallels with what happened during my last stint at high school. Especially considering it's been more than thirty years, now.

Needless to say, I'm reluctant. I throw a tantrum and threaten to revolt; the usual teenage responses to an unwelcome intrusion in my life, despite being on the cusp of turning eighty-five years old. It's another one of Carlisle's theories; human blood has prevented me from properly maturing.

I call bullshit. What's stopping me from _maturing_ is Carlisle's insistence that I be repeatedly thrown into a mix of humans I, 1. Enjoy for breakfast, and 2. Loathe with every fiber of my soul.

"I'm not going without Rose!" I lay down my sole condition for the tenth time. We're in the middle of a family meeting: Operation Domesticate Bella mark 157. It's the only time we actually use our dining table; when my family are discussing me. It doesn't stop Esme from decorating it with fruit and cutlery, though. Must keep up those appearances.

The decision has already been made; I'm returning to high school. Carlisle is stubbornly resolute this time, but Esme is militant. In the beginning I actually felt sorry for her. She wanted me to succeed so badly that she took every failure personally; as if she harbored responsibility for it. Her patience has since worn thin, though. Very thin.

I call her _the warden_ behind her back.

Rose is considerably less than eager, but has her own criteria for re-enrolling in high school for the umpteenth time; she won't go without Emmett.

"Nope." Emmett's adamant, raising his hands, palms out, to reiterate it.

"Then I'm out," is Rose's conclusion.

"Then _I'm_ out," I echo.

"You're going," Esme insists. "And I _will_ make you," she co-opts my usual response of "make me".

"I'll eat the principal." It's not even a remotely empty threat.

"I'll take your library," she counters unmoved.

"Son of a bitch!" I snap petulantly.

"Language, young lady!"

Of course, being patronized at eighty-five years old always goes down well.

"You're ready, Bella," Carlisle adds patiently, turning his attention to Alice to have his speculations validated.

"Still good," she fills him in. In other words Alice has foreseen no immediate danger to the school's population. Or more accurately, anyone who will provoke me into pulling a Carrie a la Prom Night. It's hardly surprising, though. The more remote the town, the more desperate the young folk tend to be to escape, as opposed to being your repulsive, garden variety clique of teenagers who deserve to die slow, painful deaths.

Forks is the remotest town we've lived in to date. Population three thousand. In other words, if one of their own goes missing even the feral cats of the neighborhood will aid in the search party. And the more conspicuous the family of honey-eyed (one burgundy red) nocturnals will become.

"I'm not going without Rose," I repeat my stance. Sure, I might look like Aphrodite, Goddess of Teenage Beauty Queens, but I still pale in comparison to Rose. We all do; something she won't shy away from reminding you of, either. If I have to go, I absolutely do not want to be the center of attention. That's all Rose's domain.

"Forget it, Bella," she says dryly, massaging her brow with her fingertips, no doubt at the mere idea of returning to high school—which is my entire point.

"Emmett," I turn and plead with him.

"Hell no."

"Alice...?" I pout. She's my consolation for Rose, and she knows it. It tends not to bother her; especially given she can still barely tear herself from Jasper. Yeah, vampires grow unnaturally strong attachments, but those two push the boundaries of ad nauseam. We're all praying for the day they evolve from staring starry-eyed at each other to sex, like Rose and Emmett. I share a common wall with them, and I'd sure as hell prefer hearing a mind numbing orgasm over their obsessive compulsive need to constantly relay their undying love to each other.

"Jasper isn't ready," she points out delicately.

I snort obnoxiously and turn to him; he's smirking subtly to himself. "How long are you going to be hanging on to that excuse?"

"As long as I can."

"He can't resist blood._ You_ can't resist cheerleaders," Rose reminds me, her lips twitching in response.

"I have no intention of resisting," I allude to the horrors that will result if I'm forced into the latest round of _therapy_; something which makes Emmett scoff.

"Two words for you, sis. Vol-turi."

"That's one word, doofus," I retort, but his point is made. The Volturi have threatened to assume command over me if I leave another mess for them to clean up. I'm on my last chance, apparently. It wouldn't be the worst case scenario; I'd have a steady stream of first-score blood, but I'd be forced into being a member of their guard. The creepy fossil Aro wants to utilize my ability to shield for his personal gain. I fully suspect he's a pedophile, too. His penchant for infant blood is notorious. And blood chilling. I might enjoy your average eighteen year old but I draw the line at freshmen and below.

I'd go to see Jane, though, and I have on several occasions. That girl is crazier than I am, and hilarious when drunk. Plus, she can't bully me—none of them can. After sixty-seven years I've mastered the art of expanding my shield to a three mile radius around me. Dimitri can't track me beyond it, and it's impenetrable for any of them to crack. Alice and Jasper included. Alice can't see my future and Jasper can't afflict me with his mental Xanax.

"We'll start with a month and see how you go," Carlisle barters as Esme quickly adds.

"You're going, Bella. It's non-negotiable."

"Not without Rose," I assert stubbornly.

"If you make me go, I will tear your hair out," she threatens through clenched teeth.

"You owe me one, bitch," I reply, tilting my head toward her covertly.

"How so?"

"A certain flask of A-positive, 1.8 alcohol level," I refresh her memory, just barely beneath my breath so only she can hear me.

Drunk teenagers are an absolute delicacy, and Rose knows _all_ about it.

She immediately blushes, only her blatant hostility increases. "I'll kill you."

"I'll tell Mommy Dearest," I threaten only halfheartedly, but we both know it's more so the threat that I'll cut her off from our secret stash that she's really worried about. "Fine!" she seethes, turning to Emmett. If I'm going, so are you," she informs him. "If you want sex again, that is."

"Rose!" Esme protests over Emmett's ensuing groan. "_Bella_..." she whispers by way of explanation as if I really were as under-aged as she and Carlisle like to treat me. Yeah, I'm the youngest in the family, but I'm by no means the _baby_.

"I hate you all," I blurt for added measure. Conclusion: I'll comply, but your lives will henceforth be made unbearable. Then, pulling myself to my feet, I turn to Rose. I need a fix, and _now_. "Let's go, cow."

She tsks and throwing her blond hair over her shoulder, she follows suit; not nearly as reluctantly as she'll have our parents believe. "Coming, Em?"

"Nah, watching the game." He winks, and she nods in response to the innuendo behind it. Emmett might not tag along, but he sure as hell benefits from it later.

"When will you be home," Esme enquires behind us as we head toward the garage.

"In time for dinner," I reply sarcastically as Rose snickers.

**. . .**

"You're buying me new shoes!" Rose snaps in disgust as she shoves the unconscious male body into the pile of bagged rubbish in the equally filthy alley behind the bar we frequented tonight.

"You were supplying him with the drinks," I point out, smirking to myself as she desperately kicks the vomit from her prized deer-skin boots.

"How did I know he was such a weak link," she rages, pulling wet wipes from her purse to attempt to salvage them.

"Let see who we have here," I say, slipping my hand into the early twenty-something's pocket to retrieve his wallet. "Mike Newton—twenty nine!" I balk at the blatant and laughable fakery of his ID.

"Just hurry up. The smell is nauseating." Rose grimaces and averts her nose in the opposite direction.

I roll my eyes, and then yanking off _Mike Newton's_ bile-soaked jacket, I pull his arm out, studying his median veins. They're thick, healthy; just the sight of them causes my mouth to salivate and my canines to elongate as I all but moan past it. Bringing my lips to the inside of his elbow, I inhale the rich scent of his blood before opening my mouth and pressing my tongue to the steady pulse behind it.

"Hurry up, you sadistic bitch!" Rose attempts to rush me.

I don't; does any sane person rush foreplay?

Clamping my wrist around his upper arm and using it as a tourniquet, I pierce his skin with my right fang and make a small nick in his now bulging cubital vein. His alcohol affected blood immediately flows into my mouth, making me almost swoon from sheer pleasure.

I drink slowly, prolonging it for as long as possible, while keeping myself in full control. It's so easy to bleed them dry, but if Rose doesn't get her cut, she'll throw a hissy and be pissed enough to inform Mommy Dearest.

I take in roughly 300mls, before my hand springs out toward Rose. She hands me the small flask she kept in her purse, and after slicing the vein completely open, I pull back and place the mouth of the cup to it. Within a minute his bright red blood is brimming to the edge.

Rose snatches it from me before I bite my finger, drawing my own blood, and place it to the wound. It's instantly healed. I've taken fractionally more than the standard amount drawn when donating blood. Nobody will suspect a thing, and Mike—probably underaged—Newton will wake up with a hell of a hangover, remembering nothing but the two hotties who bought him drinks while promising _a lot _more.

He's at least three times over the legal limit and both Rose and I are buzzed. I'm prepared to go a few more rounds, but her vomit-scented boots have put her in a bad mood. She's so damned materialistic, and it's not as if we _aren't_ filthy rich, or anything.

"God, I'm horny. Let's go." She grabs my arm, pulling me out of the alley into the street beyond.

"Excuse me." We're stopped by a girl with frizzy hair and shocking skin. The weather can explain away the volume of her hair, but the girl seriously needs some zinc in her diet. "Have you seen a guy with blond hair and about this tall?" She motions to an inch over my head, her eyes widening comically as they fix to Rose.

"You mean the idiot who tried to come onto me and then puked all over himself?" Rose says, pursing her lips and jerking her head behind us. "He's back there."

Acne Perm and a girl with eyesight on the same paltry level dutifully follow Rose's vague direction, whispering to themselves not nearly as in confidence as they believe. They wonder whether we're models. Okay, they wonder whether _Rose _is a model. As for me, I'm obviously too short, and have clearly had work.

I fume silently to myself, my buzz instantly killed.

"I'm done," I mutter, stalking off towards Rose's red Merc. "Those bitches better hope they're not my new _classmates_."

Rose only chuckles, apathetic to my darkened mood. With her ego stroked, she's significantly brighter and is already over the loss of her Italian leather boots.

"You're so touchy," she comments as she inspects her eyes in the visor mirror.

"I'm fine," I dismiss her curtly, but we both know she's right. I attempt to let it go; tightening my hands around the steering wheel until my knuckles pale. We both know I'm _not _fine; I'm pissed off. I despise teenage girls almost as much as the male equivalent.

"Do they look any different?" she asks, and turning my gaze from the road I glance into Rose's widened, slightly darker amber eyes.

"They're fine," I assure her, letting go of my irritation behind a heavy breath. Rose's monthly expose into the dark side does little to change the hue of her irises. Her paranoia I can't say the same for. But then we've both experienced the ire of the warden to be considerably more cautious.

"God that was good." She releases a languid moan and allows her head to roll against the rest. "I'm soooo..._ugh.._."

There's no words to describe it. None that can adequately characterize the depth and intensity of fulfillment it gives you on every level. It makes Rose horny, as it does me, but I don't exactly have an outlet to channel it.

I have zero inclination for others of our kind who were turned around the same age as me. Their resemblance alone to the age category of the humans I despise is enough to turn me off, while older made vampires find me..._unsophisticated_. Hence why I'm the only member of our coven without a mate.

Carlisle believes once I overcome my aversion to all things teenagers, I'll eventually fall in love with one of them. There really is no limit to that man's delusions. Or his inability to understand and accept who I really am.

Nevertheless, two days later, Rose, Emmett and I start our senior year at Forks High School.

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**A/N: Yay? Nay?**


	3. Chapter 2

**A/N: If you're still with me - awesome! I know vamp fics aren't everyone's cup of tea. I tried writing a canon Edward once. I almost threw my damn self in the Lifestream. That emo fucker is just... emo is insufficient. He reminds me of Michael Bolton in that vomit inducing song "How am I supposed to Live Without You". Seriously, every time I hear it, I want to slap him and shout, "I don't know how, just grow a spine and a pair of balls, you pathetic fucking sap!" Sheesh, did his mother ever not warn him about wearing his heart on his sleeve? Um...what was I saying again? I might be zonked on Pseudo-ephadrines, just an FYI.**

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**Black Swan**

**Chapter 2**

"Jock, jock, slut, kiss ass, back stabber, virgin—"

"Is there no damn sun in this one-horse town," Rose complains, interrupting my checklist and gazing begrudgingly up at the sky.

We're in the parking lot a couple of feet from the main entrance of the school, waiting for Em to return from the office with our schedules.

"Apparently not," I answer dryly, pointedly scowling at the next curious by-passer before resuming my ballot. "Slut, nerd, pregnant, jock, Fake ID—shit!"

"What?" Rose asks, only moderately interested as she rechecks her makeup behind her compact mirror.

"_Blond, this high_," I imitate Acne Perm, jutting my chin toward the now obvious teenage boy who still looks considerably peakish.

"The vomiter?" Rose's complexion immediately sours. "Ugh, of course."

"Think he remembers us?" I speculate. "Jock, emo, reefer, cheerleader, virgin, zit-fest—"

"Oh hiiiiiiii," Acne Perm greets us with entirely too much enthusiasm, because apparently enquiring as to the whereabouts of your inebriated boyfriend constitutes as friendship.

"Do I know you?" Rose replies, arching a perfectly manicured brow at her over her compact.

"We met Saturday night—in Port Angeles. I'm Jessica." Her tone rises, her expression almost manic at the prospect that model Rose and brown-haired girl with work done is attending her high school.

"I'm very sorry you felt the need to tell me that," Rose adds in deliberate monotone, snapping her compact shut and stuffing it into her purse.

"Felt the need to tell you...what...?" Jessica asks, her tone dropping with growing uncertainty.

"Your name."

Acne Perm's face immediately pales before she turns and shuffles off towards the girl with unfortunate eyesight.

_Angela_, I pluck her name from their whisperings.

"I'm in Hell," Rose puts a voice to my inner musings as the first drops of rain fall over us.

Given that I'm taking advanced-level subjects for every class, the odds of being put with any member of the _cool group_ is significantly low. For the most part I'm placed beside teenage boys whose prescription lenses are thicker than their IQs; all are harmless. Angela is in my Trigonometry class, and I find she's a lot more benign than Jessica—who immediately outs herself as the school gossip. Not to mention being ridiculously in love with Fake ID and some boy not currently back from vacationing with his parents. Her voice grates above all else in the masses, and steadily on my last nerve.

By lunch I'm already envisioning her death. Her jugular vein is out of the question—not with her level of acne affliction, and considering how constantly her hands are squeezing at her face I don't want to be anywhere within reach of them. The planter vein in her feet is the only safe alternative and even the idea of that churns my stomach.

"_Oh my god, like Edward this, Edward that_," I mimic her, past all patience as I throw myself down at the cafeteria table beside Rose and Emmett. "Does that girl ever shut up—what in god's name is that smell?"

"It's Em," Rose says with a sigh, massaging her forehead as if she's in the throes of a three-day migraine.

"What...?" I turn to him as he holds up a zip-lock sandwich bag filled with hard boiled eggs. "Emmett," I hiss. "No sane human eats like that."

"But...it's protein. Yeah...?" He appears confused.

"Who is Edward?" Rose asks, as she checks her Instagram page from her phone.

"Zero clue. Some jock still vacationing, apparently." My tone darkens; enough to redirect Rose's focus.

"Alice did promise no dangers," she reminds me.

"I haven't forgotten, but even still..." I expel a completely exasperated breath. "Carlisle _actually_ expects me to fall in love with one of these microbes. The man is clearly insane."

The last two periods of the day are Biology and Gym. Both I share with Fake ID.

"Oh hey," he intercepts me at the entrance to Bio, his squinty eyes widening broader than his smile. "You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?"

"Affirmative," I reply, avoiding all further eye contact as I attempt to move around him.

He blocks my path, and I realize shoving him out of the way is not a viable alternative. After the misery of today, I don't have any intention of evoking the wrath of the warden by breaking any of this idiot boy's bones. "Have we met?"

"Yes," I answer truthfully, gazing at him squarely. "Saturday night at the tavern in Port Angeles. You tried to ply my sister Rosalie with drinks before you vomited over yourself. As well as her."

His entire face smooths out in shock before it almost immediately flushes a deep scarlet. I catch the scent of his blood, realizing I can still taste it on my tongue. O positive tends to be rather vanilla but being tequila infused most definitely adds some zest. "Oh, uh...yeah... I haven't really been drunk before..." he mumbles, breaking my gaze.

I use it as an opportunity to escape, only to find myself trapped by him at the closest lab table I attempt to find refuge at.

"How do you like the rain?" he asks, idiotic smile pulling wide again as if I am somehow meant to find the subject of Forks weather titillating.

"I don't."

"No?" He appears side-lined; though, I have zero idea why.

"No." I clear my throat, indicating that this conversation is now over.

Unsurprisingly, he does not take the hint. "It's kinda nice, though. To sleep... No...?"

Once again, I look up and meet his eyes directly. "Are you hard of hearing?"

"Mike, that's Edward's seat!" is how Jessica announces her arrival.

I groan not nearly as beneath my breath as I intended. I have killed for much less. Much, _much,_ less.

"Hey, Jess." His voice restricts in obvious disinterest; though, Acne Affliction is as oblivious as he is, and consequently sits herself in the stool beside me.

"I thought you said that was Edward's seat?" I point out, a not so subtle _fuck off before you die_ edge to my tone.

"Yeah, but he won't mind if I use it." She jerks her shoulder dismissively before pulling her books from her bag.

I tense, my hands balling into fists; my breath pulling stiffly from my nostrils. That's when I catch it, the sickly sweet aroma of ketones in her blood. I almost gag and inch myself as further away from her as the table will allow.

"So, hey, I'll chat to you later, Isabella," Mike says, and I can only stare at his either brazen idiocy, or inflated sense of importance.

"I'm sorry, I'm busy," I remove my palm from my mouth to reply.

"W-when...?"

"Later."

"Later...when?"

"When you talk to me—I'll be busy!"

"Oh my god, Mike, she's telling you she's not interested." Acne Affliction giggles, and just as I internally release my breath in relief, she turns and leans closer me. "So, Isabella..."

"_What_?"

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Why?—you're so pretty."

"It's still a no."

"Do you like Mike?"

"Still a no."

"Why?"

"He's repulsive."

"Oh, because he threw up over your friend?"

"My sister!"

"You don't look alike."

"Please leave."

"That's okay. Edward won't be back for a couple of weeks."

"I don't like you, either."

I'm met with silence before a very quiet, and slightly indignant, "Oh," bursts from her, but still she doesn't leave. She only sits in her stool staring at me as if I'm somehow impaired.

After a total of three seconds of it I'm done. I kick the leg of her stool, too fast for her to catch it, but enough that it immediately topples and takes her with it. She lands at my feet as the entire class erupts into applause.

She begins to screech out excuses to explain away her clumsiness. Something about how Edward is always kicking the leg of the stool, weakening it, but the objective has been met. She vacates to another table; beside Fake ID. He looks only minimally more impressed than I was while I plot the murder of them both.

At the start of Gym, I follow Jessica into the girls' toilets, and with her back to me, I reach out and grab her in a choke hold; restricting both external carotid arteries in her neck. In five seconds she flails limply in my grip, and dragging her into a stall, I drain a third of the blood from her body before signaling for _help_.

It's Carlisle's first week at the Olympic Medical Center; he's on duty when Jessica is brought in. I'm immediately outed, and in retaliating Esme takes all my music, my phone, computer, iPad and television. A week without Acne Perm, though? It's completely worth it.

If I can somehow find a way to get rid of Fake ID, then _maybe_, I just might be able to get through the month.

Unfortunately, in _dragging_ Jessica into the gym and raising the alarm I unwittingly find myself at the center of the school's attention. I'm heralded as some kind of savior and given a special award from the principal. It's agonizing, and more so when I realize Fake ID is using my new found fame as reason to continue bothering me.

I'm halfway between third and fourth period when he walks up beside me and actually drapes an arm around my shoulders. I immediately freeze and it takes every ounce of will that exists within me, not to rip his arm from its socket.

"If you want to leave today with your scrotum intact, I strongly suggest you remove your hand—_now_," I threaten him, my voice all but a growl as I attempt to shrug him from me as if I really were a helpless teenage girl.

He pauses as if challenging me, before with a self-indulgent smirk, he lets his arm fall from around me.

This is why teenagers are always placed on the front lines during battle. They have a heightened sense of invincibility and none at all when it comes to danger. The idiot has no idea how close he is to death and yet he remains standing before me with his drawling grin growing wide.

Luckily for him, though, Emmett comes right as I'm preparing to act upon my deliberations of bloodshed. Grabbing him by the scruff of his sweater, he herds Mike away from me and shoves him further ahead. No minimally functioning person would question Emmett's strength, and flashing me a quick grin, my brother quickly vanishes ahead of me into the crowds.

It works for the next three days, until Friday when Fake ID once more corners me during Biology.

"So, Bella"—yes, word quickly spread that I don't, in fact, go by _Isabella_—"I was wondering—"

"No!"

"What?"

"Whatever you were wondering. No."

"I..."

"No."

"I'm sorry?"

"No." I attempt to step around him, when again, he blocks my path. "Do you want to die?"

He immediately finds it amusing, but something, no doubt my expression, prevents him from breaking into laughter. "I was just wondering—"

I'm fuming and well past the point of patient. "What part of _no_ don't you understand?"

"I..._please_..."

Good god in heaven he's resorting to begging, and releasing a completely exasperated breath, I concede. "Fine, meet me in the woods after school—but speak a word to me before then and it's off. Understood?"

"Understood." He's grinning like a moron, but needless to say, I have no intention of meeting up with him after school, or ever.

I don't kill him, though. I leave him waiting for me for however long he holds out for. I have the weekend to consider whether he lives or not.

Week two heralds in Jessica's return, and apparently, by _saving her life_, we are now best friends by default. By Tuesday I stage a sit-in and refuse to return.

"I didn't kill anyone—what else do you want from me?!" I scream at Mommy Dearest when by 10am she still hasn't let up on her nagging.

"How do you expect to make any progress when you self-segregate yourself?" She makes another attempt at reason, but I only snort.

"You and Dearest Daddy are the only ones who want me to make progress. _I'm_ happy the way I am."

"Anger and resentment are not the usual emotions synonymous with happiness, Bella." She sighs and drops her forehead into her splayed palm. "Your eyes are darkening. We're going hunting tonight. Come with us."

I snort again. In disgust this time. "No chance in hell. I'll be having prime teenager for dinner. You can eat what you like."

"Bella..." she complains. "Please, at least try. You were a teenager once, remember?"

"Onus on _once_." I fold my arms across my chest and glance away from her, pouting.

"Okay." She appears resigned, and releasing a second heavy breath she concludes the conversation. "You can have the rest of the week off, but that's all. And if you must feed on humans try not to kill them." She realizes every word that comes out of her mouth falls on deaf ears, but she insists on saying it regardless.

"_Yes, mother_," I reply mockingly.

"Seattle," Her lips thin and she's back to being the warden, "and I _don't _want to hear about it on the news. Clear?"

"Crystal."

I leave an hour before sunset, pausing five minutes out from the Bainbridge ferry crossing to change. I'm wet, mud splattered and have insects in my hair, but I didn't have the patience to travel by car.

In a seedy little rest room off the ferry terminal, I dress into the skimpiest, sluttiest outfit Rose owns, complete with a matching pair of stilettos. The bitch will kill me if she knew I raided her closet again, but I simply don't have her eye for fashion enough to shop for myself.

Forty minutes later, I'm walking the streets of Seattle. There's some kind of protest going on. Scores of twenty-something anarchists are lining the streets, holding banners demanding god only knows what. Delusional twats. More than a few notice me as I walk past, but basement dwelling males with less testosterone than your average raccoon do not appeal to me in the slightest. Besides, they're too old, and after a week with Fake ID and another mind-numbing day with Acne Perm only the biggest teenage alpha male in the city will satisfy me. And his girlfriend too, of course. I need dessert.

I find a group of them playing basketball under flood lights in Green Lake with twice as many brain-dead females spectating in the adjacent bleachers. Some are still clad in their blue and white cheerleading outfits; the pungent aroma of their perfume almost drowning out their hemoglobin.

My mouth instantly waters, my fangs slowly descending, and walking straight past them I place myself midway up in the bleachers; roughly six feet to the right of them. Then pulling my trusty Charlotte Bronte from my purse, I plant one thigh over the other and lay the worn paperback in my lap.

The boys have instantly taken notice, almost as much as the girls. They're more than a little threatened by my presence, and I listen with a small smirk to their not-so-secret musings. It's the usual deliberations; who am I, what do I want; which boy am I interested in.

I had_ him_ selected from the outset. He's the tall, dark haired guy with the killer smile. Todd, his name is, and Todd, it would seem, has also taken a fancy to me. I catch him more than once checking me out; his eyes coveting closely over the split skirt in Rose's dress that gives a little too much away. Likewise he has a rather plump, juicy jugular vein that's helping to vacillate the blood to his face the more he makes eye contact with me.

There's a girl in the opposing camp who also has her eye on Todd, but the longer I remain the more she's forced to realize that she's about to play second fiddle. That's when they decide to descend on me, surrounding me like a bunch of rabid hyenas on the hungry pride lion.

"Who are you?" an idiot, braver than the rest, demands. She's the least pretty of the bunch, and her audacity is her way of proving her loyalty and worth. She wants in, and badly.

Pitiful.

"Your worst nightmare, Gwyneth," I reply without looking up from Jane Ayre.

"How do you know my name?!"

"Aren't you desperate for _everyone _to know your name?" I glance up and arch a very deliberate brow.

Her answer comes by way of a blank, uncertain stare.

"So, why are you so surprised I know it?" I continue regardless.

She shakes her head, her confusion growing. "It doesn't matter. _Todd_ is with Kate."

"Is that so_, Kate?"_ I ask, identifying her in the crowd. It wasn't exactly hard. Every second word out of her mouth over the last twenty minutes has been _Todd_; much like Acne Perm and _Edward_.

Kate adopts the same vacant expression as Gwyneth, and holds my gaze for no longer than three seconds. Girls tend to be more in tune with their instincts than the boys, but while they have no understanding of why they want to recoil from me, they don't question it. But then they also don't have a six inch organ that often competes with the brain for oxygen and blood flow.

Kate is also aware that she doesn't come close to outranking me in the looks department, and is half the reason behind her reluctance to challenge me. I suspect it's the first time in her life that she hasn't been the pretties in the crowd.

"Hmm, Kate appears rather ambiguous." I turn my attention back to Gwyneth, raising my brows to stress it further.

"Well she's not!" she blurts, her face flashing bold red; her confidence is steadily diminishing. She's uneasy, as well, but so far she's ignoring it. Her desire to be accepted into the cool group outweighs her desire to live. "She's liked him since sophomore year!"

I shrug a shoulder indifferently. "That's fine. I don't mind sharing. What do you say, Kate?"

"How do you know him?" She finally finds her voice.

"Todd? Oh"—I wave a hand indifferently—"we go _way_ back."

"Prove it." Her voice softly wavers. She's not too keen about calling my bluff; I decide to call hers.

"Oh, Todd!" I call out, turning my head to face the still ongoing basketball game.

He immediately comes to a standstill, his eyes zeroing in on me as the ball hits him square in the side of the head. I motion him over, and with his grin growing broad he immediately complies.

"Hey," he greets me, his breath shortened as his dark brown eyes slowly take me in.

"Todd, honey. Don't break my heart and tell me you don't remember me." 80's movies pick-up lines are the safest bet, and it's a rare occurrence if kids from this century have heard them.

Todd's eyes immediately widen in surprise, and perhaps panic. _Definitely_ panic; it's a good sign. "No...I...remember you."

"Little League?" I refresh his memory with one that doesn't exist, and he smiles, relieved.

"Of course, Little League."

My sentiments exactly; it's not exactly hard to discern the lives of these jocks. All the same. Sport, girls, sport, girls, sport... Rinse, repeat

"Take a seat," I offer, patting the metal bench beside me. He immediately takes me up on it, and I discreetly inhale the scent of him in. He's most definitely an A negative. Just my type.

"What's up?" he asks, and poor, sweet, neglected Kate; he doesn't even glance at her. The girl is definitely not accustomed to being in anyone's shadow. I almost pity her.

"The sky, honey. Let's go for a drive. Kate said she doesn't mind tagging along." I pull myself to my feet, and Mr. 6'3 quickly scrambles after me.

"Oh," He turns to a now scowling Kate, and if his expression is anything to go by he's in disbelief. I get the impression he thinks it's some kind of set up. It is, but not in the context he's thinking. "You coming, Kate?" he asks out of an obvious obligation because it's clear he doesn't want her to.

"No." She sulks, jutting out her bottom lip for added measure; he's unmoved by it but of course he is. He's being lured by the perfect predator, and my beautiful face is designed to override any reluctance his deepest instincts might throw up.

"Oh, come on, Kate." I grab her wrist and yank her down the bleachers after me; I'm not about to pass up dessert.

She initially puts up a fight, but no doubt my cold, hard iron grip quickly pacifies her. Her heart's accelerating; she's scared, but I'd wager she's not quite sure why.

With a spring in his step, Todd leads the way to his black Camaro, and good god, it actually has vinyl flames along its sides.

"Oh, how sexy," I observe, trying not to snort back how tragic I really think it is.

"I know, hey?" He's in complete agreement as he opens the passenger side door for me.

I slide in, making sure he's showing Kate the same courtesy this time; he is. Then pulling himself behind the steering wheel, he turns over the engine, and in a screech of burning rubber we pull out of the parking lot.

He takes us to some cheesy lookout. I'm not sure where; my focus was on plying Kate with liquor. She takes it begrudgingly and by the time Todd pulls his car to a complete stop she's polished off the small silver flask I kept in my purse.

Producing the second, I hand it to Todd.

"Thanks," he says with a smile, taking a generous gulp before passing it back to me.

My sip is completely feigned. Alcohol won't affect a vampire too much. It causes a burning in the belly, and increases thirst, but nothing feeding can't cure.

"So," I begin, once again handing it to him, "let's play a game."

"Hm, what game?" He turns to me, his eyes are burning and he leans toward me.

Placing a palm square to his chest, I keep him at a distance. For now. "What's the worst thing you've ever done to one of your classmates?"

"You first...?" Kate slurs sarcastically from the back seat, her question hanging in emphasis for the name I haven't supplied them with.

"Bella."

"Bella..." Todd drawls, taking another mouthful from the flask, "now I remember you."

"Of course you do. You first."

"Huh?"

"The worst thing you've ever done."

"Oh... Uh...nothing really. I'm not that much of a jerk."

Lies.

"Yeah?" I play along. "You're no fun. What about you, Kate?"

"Nothing," she mutters petulantly before a muffled groan breaks from between her lips. She's on the cusp of passing out. Or vomiting. It's a good thing Rose isn't here.

I sigh, over dramatizing it. "Last week I knocked this really annoying girl, Jessica, out. Bitch wouldn't stop bothering me, so I cornered her in the bathroom and yadda yadda yadda..." I take another feigned sip from the flask and continue, "She was in hospital for a week, and she thinks it was me who rescued her."

Todd laughs, relaxing his shoulders a little as he does. "Yeah. You sound like my kind of chick, Bella."

"Your turn."

"Okay, well, last year I had to ask out the ugliest girl in school for a fraternity initiation."

"Did you?" My fists ball, and I have to force myself to unclench my jaw.

"Yeah."

"Did you fuck her?"

"Fuck that!" He balks at the question.

Sucking my breath sharply through my nose, I glance over my shoulder to Kate. Her head is slumped to her shoulder, her eyes beginning to roll back in her head. "And you?"

"I put hair removal cream in Susan's shampoo bottle," she replies, snorting to herself as her lips pull into a semi unconscious smirk.

"Susan?"

"Just some lard ass in my Math class."

"Hmm." I turn back to Todd. "Just as I thought."

"Bella..." His eyes are beginning to glaze, his eyes fixed to my lips.

I deliberately moisten them and a groan emanates from deep in his throat.

"Tell me something, Todd. Do you like watching girl on girl?" I toy with him, leaning fractionally closer so my breath washes over his face.

"Y-yeah..." he answers his eyes widening. Yeah, this asshole thinks all his Christmases have come at once.

I'm in the back seat in an instant, almost too quickly, before wrapping my hand around Kate's throat.

"Your hands are cold," are the last words she speaks in this world.

Squeezing my grip, I crush her larynx—she doesn't make a peep—before sinking my fangs deep into the side of her neck and draining her completely dry.

"Kate has no constitution for liquor," I say after releasing her and allowing her to slump limply against the window.

Todd's mouth is practically on the ground, his eyes bugging out of his head. "Holy shit..."

"Oh, Indeed. She was delicious," I reply, after climbing back to the passenger side seat, and without any encouragement from Todd, I unzip his pants and slide my hand into his jocks.

He's hard and quivering and the moment my cool hand wraps around that primordial organ of his, he comes.

"Fuck!" I snap, immediately impatient, and he's lucky he didn't get that mess over me or I would have ripped his head off.

"Oh, shit, I-I'm so sorry!" he bursts before grabbing himself as if to somehow head it off.

With a short, frustrated sigh, I forcibly remove his hand. "Let me, baby."

It means putting him back in the mood, but I mastered the art of it years ago, and with Kate's blood circulating through my veins, my body is now warm. Not two minutes later, I have Todd fully erect and rigid again. That's when I lean down and enclose my mouth over the side of it. God in heaven it's burning, the dorsal vein pulsating, and my moan this time is in unison with his.

Reaching above me, I clamp my fist to his shirt, keeping him in his seat. Both his find their way to my hair as I bite into his hard, unyielding manhood. He practically lurches this time, a sound bursting from him; an amalgamation of pain and pleasure as I slowly draw the life force from him.

When I'm done, thoroughly satiated and completely buzzed by the alcohol infused blood now overrunning my body, I glance up at his still-shocked expression, frozen in death.

Cupping a hand to the far side of his face, I press my lips to his open mouth before whispering in his ear, "You deserved it."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, so...you getting Bella's tenor? Oh, and who knows what 80s movie Bella quotes?**


	4. Chapter 3

**A/N: Enter Edward, and then I'll see you next week. Say a prayer that the little fuckers lighting these fires will - I want to say die, but considering they're mostly kids, I shouldn't. I still want to, though. **

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 3**

"Oh, god, what smells so good around here all of sudden?" I comment, raising my nose toward the brick school building to take a deeper whiff. There is something sweet in the air; sweet, savory and musky. It's the scent of purely ripened, oxygenated blood, but I'm a week out from feasting; I shouldn't be salivating to this extent so soon.

"I don't smell anything," Rose says, sniffing as if she has a cold. It's her way of expressing her still simmering resentment.

After Todd and Kate in the city Tuesday night, I ran back to Forks and consequently ruined her Oscar de la Renta. I'm still in the freezer.

"Jesus, woman, if I bring you back some AB tonight will you let up?"

"AB with Jack Daniels," she specifies. "Two liters."

"Fine," I mutter, as Emmett, pretending he's none-the-wiser to our conversation, grins secretively to himself.

"Best sex of my life when Rosie goes human," I once heard him explain to Garrett.

Garrett, a nomad who befriended us by default when he ran into Carlisle, thinks they're all throwbacks for living vegan. I'm inclined to agree with him.

The moment I walk into the halls of the school, the scent condenses, and my fangs immediately draw. It's mouthwatering, literally, and slightly confusing. Blood smells good at the best of times, but like anything, after gorging on it your appetite does tend to curb in the short term. But this is like... the vampire equivalent to succulent pork ribs, and I suddenly feel like I haven't eaten in months.

"What are you?—a bloodhound?" Rose hisses, grabbing my wrist and yanking me beside her after I begin to stray, trailing after that luscious smell my nose in the air.

"God, what is it?" I moan, my eyes darting in every direction searching for its owner.

They find Acne Perm instead, who immediately makes a beeline in our direction. She's been prostrating herself in the limelight of her near death experience, and embellishing on her story until it's now inching into the fantastical. The previous Monday she was lucky to survive, but my patience with her has since worn thinner.

"Stop right there!" I warn her, holding my hand up as she halts in her tracks six feet from me. "From now on you do not get any closer, understand?"

"But..."

The smell of pork ribs condenses again and then retracts, and I turn almost mechanically toward it.

That's when I catch the chatter on everyone's lips. Edward is back today. Edward _Masen_.

"Edward..." I murmur, regarding it. This new succulence is coinciding with his return, and I do not believe in coincidence.

"Who?" Rose asks, catching the tone I'd used.

"I think it's him who smells this good," I answer, resuming my search now for the unfamiliar human in the crowds.

"Bella...perhaps you should leave early. Just in case," she says, the concern in her voice evident.

"Hell, no," I reply distracted as I all but blindly follow behind the trace scent as it begins to fade. Wherever he is he's leaving the near vicinity. I have to find out what class he's in.

Emmett slams his palm to my shoulder, forcibly turning me in the opposite direction. "This way, sis."

I'm dragged from the building, and while Emmett keeps me detained, my bitch sister calls home. Alice, more accurately.

I can hear her voice through the receiver, and her answer is to the contrary. No, she does not foresee me eating _Edward Masen_, or anyone from Forks High School.

"See!" I jerk Emmett's iron grip from me, and immediately turn toward the main entrance. Alice's visions are not often wrong, but this time they most definitely are. I have every intention of having pork ribs for lunch.

The scent ebbs and flows all morning, teasing me, _taunting_ me, but I have yet to discover its owner. Whoever he is he isn't in any of my classes; which means he's your typical intellectually sub-par jock. His abs are no doubt larger than his brain, and his testosterone levels even greater still. You'd think the kids would be remotely cynical about him, about all these types, but typically his name spills from their tongues all morning with that nauseating sense of awe; as if Edward Masen is royalty who's generously gracing them with his presence.

I despise him already, but boy does he smell nice.

It's in the cafeteria when I catch my first glimpse of him. The room with one entrance and exit is concentrated with his scent, permeating with it, and the moment I enter I'm deluged by it. My mouth immediately salivates, while my throat tightens and burns simultaneously. I can taste it in the air, on the breath of every student, and it's so lusciously potent my head automatically snaps toward its point of supply.

He's sitting on a table in the middle of the room, his feet on a chair, while at least a dozen students mill around, hanging off his every word. Acne Perm is one of his more noticeable Klingons.

He's...handsome, I note bitterly. Yeah, he's handsome, and the bastard knows it, too. It's in the ease of his grin, the relaxed stance of his posture as he sits, his forearms resting against his propped knees. He's comfortable on his perch, as if he knows no other existence.

I trail behind Emmett and Rose, my eyes glued to him, and with the arrival of the trio of us, half the population of the cafeteria turns their gazes in our direction. He's one of them.

He catches me staring at him and in response he raises his chin in some kind of greeting, and then he winks. He actually winks at me. I snort to myself, openly, blatantly, and rolling my eyes I look away. I have to force myself though, because the closer to him I move, the more his scent draws me in. I pass within six meters of him, needing to completely hold my breath. My fangs have fully descended, and the impulse to lunge at him has never been so powerful in the close to sixty-seven years of my second life. I have to fight to restrain myself; fight to stop my top lip from curling back against my teeth.

"Son of a bitch," I mutter behind the palm I clamp to my mouth.

Rose, bringing a can of Coke to her lips in the pretense of drinking, smirks. "He smells rather bland to me, but he is quite dishy. For a human."

Emmett scoffs, his darkened gaze pulling towards the red canary on the perch. "He's scrawny."

Placating him, Rose reaches beneath the table and places her hand to his knee. I snort at the two of them before that luscious aroma immediately draws my attention back.

"God, is it that weird hair of his emitting that fragrance?" I wonder out loud, shaking my head in an attempt to pull myself together. It's red, but it's not red. It's almost a dark golden copper blonde, but a hair-color I've never seen before.

"He's in my Trig class," Rose pipes up, producing a nail file from her purse; another pretense, "and _dear me_, do the girls _ever_ love him."

"How predictable," I mutter, needing to draw breath to speak. "I might have to vacate and wait for him elsewhere. I don't really want scores of spectators watching me eat my lunch."

Emmett groans. "Bella, Volturi, remember?"

"I haven't forgotten, and I won't make a mess—_promise_."

"Why don't you let him live and keep him as your pet?" Rose suggests, her lips twitching as she discreetly glances over to him.

"You know _Mommy_ and _Daddy_ will never let me keep him," I reply sarcastically, but it's not a novel idea. Vampires have kept pets for as long as they've existed, and I wouldn't be so adverse to having a constant supply of food this salacious.

"Go off the grid—he's watching you, Bella," Rose fills me in.

I turn my head squarely toward him, my eyes meeting his. His are green, forest green in fact, and presently narrowed over a knotted brow. He's almost staring at me as if I confuse him.

"If he's your singer, Bella, you might want to leave now," Emmett advises, watching me watching him. "If you get any closer to him you won't be able to control yourself. Believe me, I know."

It's the reason why Emmett is a strict vegetarian; his guilt over killing _his _singer. He's never got over it, but Emmett has a big heart and zero restraint. I'm the polar opposite, and if Mr. Masen _is_ my singer, I am not about to have a one-time meal. Who in their right mind would limit such a thing?

Blessedly, lunch breaks at Forks High are short, and one step closer to pork ribs, I head to Biology.

Fake ID, as usual, traps me by the entrance, and if he was skating on thin ice before he's minutely close to falling through it now.

"Do _not_ talk to me!" I pre-empt him the instant he turns to me, drawling grin wide.

A snicker bursts from behind him at the exact moment I literally convulse in my skin. He's only a few feet away, and I'm in ground zero of blood lust.

"I don't think she likes you, Newton," I hear his voice. It's deeper and smoother than your average teenage boys, despite the laughter presently in it.

A gasp escapes me, and pushing myself forward, I stagger toward my lab table. That's when I recall my first Bio class where Acne Perm informed me of who was soon to be my partner. I practically fall into my stool, my face angled toward the open windows as I forcibly suck fresh air into my lungs. My fangs are fully released and my jaw is clenched so hard they're biting into the inside of my bottom lip.

He sits beside me, and never have I experienced a hunger so tangible it was suffocating before. Every cell in my body is crying out to surrender, but with my last shred of will I resist. As much as I enjoy visiting Jane, I do not want to be forced into servitude by the Volturi; a virtual prisoner. No, I like my freedom, and most importantly, I like to personally select my meals as opposed to having random tourists thrown at me.

"Hey," he speaks up, reaching out to lightly tap my shoulder. "You okay?"

I'm leaning as far away from him as I can possibly manage, and it's obvious. Catching myself, I close my palm over my nose and mouth and turn to him. "Fine," I strangle out, before once again facing the windows.

"You feeling all right?"

I shake my head, no, and clear my voice roughly in an attempt to expel his scent from throat. I fail, and as I continue to waver my entire body begins to tremble.

"You gonna puke?"

"God—shut up!" I snap, my voice practically a snarl. It's a strange occurrence to be so incensed and enticed by the same person, simultaneously.

"Okay, _sorry_." He scoffs, and from the edges of my periphery, I notice him raise his hands.

Usually when the Mr. Cool of the school mocks me it does not go down well, but right now I am so paralyzed by the desire for his blood I'm blinded by everything else. His attitude bounces off me as a mild irritation, as I continue to inch myself further and further away from him.

"Hey, I don't smell, do I?" he asks, taking an audible whiff of himself.

"It's...your...after...sh-shave," I stammer, squeezing my eyes closed against it. It's futile, but it's all I can think of. I need to get the hell out of here.

"Mr. Banner?" The red canary calls the teacher's attention to us.

"Edward?"

"I think Bella's gonna puke."

A collective upheaval of repulsion reverberates throughout the room when the teacher quickly puts an end to it. But all I can think—aside from the virulent pull of his blood—is that he knows my name.

Well, of course he does. The school gossip monger, Acne Perm, would have no doubt filled him in.

"Miss Swan?"

I utter out a whimpering sound; it's all I'm capable of, and the teacher orders Edward to accompany me to the nurse.

I'm up and out of the class before he can pull himself to his feet, but he trails after me nonetheless.

Exiting the hall, I push through the entrance doors and stumble outside. The fresh air dilutes his scent and somewhat alleviates the agony I'm in, until he gets within a few feet of me again.

"Stay away from me!" I warn him, turning to face him as I continue to back away.

"I have to take you to the nurse, so I am," he replies, throwing me a quick grin and pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

This is when I realize he's enjoying himself—at my expense. I'm instantly fuming.

"You don't want to fuck with me, pretty boy!" I attempt to growl, but I don't have air in my lungs to pull it off. My voice comes out as a squeak, and in response to it, he laughs.

He has nice teeth, and he's tall. He'll be a pain in the ass to carry.

"Why are you so pissed?" he asks, continuing to follow me so casually my desire to tear his throat open is beginning to rival my lust for his blood.

"The smell of you is nauseating, okay. So stay the fuck back!" I'm losing my shit, and sounding like a typical teenager, and this asshole is not even remotely threatened by me.

"I'm still taking you. You can turn around. I won't jump you, or anything." He arches a brow, emphasizing how odd it is that I'm essentially walking backwards in step with him.

I whip around and quicken my pace, keeping him ten feet away from me at all times. He's amazed by my speed—that much is obvious—but he still attempts to close the distance. I don't let him.

When I enter the nurse's office, I'm again forced into close quarters with him. He stands right next to me, and that's when I begin to lose control.

"Are you all right, dear?" the admin woman enquires as the entire room starts to slant and tinge with the hue of blood. Of _my blood_ rushing to my brain.

"Fine..." I groan, shaking my head. "I mean, get him away...from me." That's when I realize I'm gripping the sleeve of his shirt at his forearm, drawing him close to me; my instincts on auto-pilot even when what's left of my rationality continues to resist.

"Damn, you're strong," he notes, but he doesn't attempt to pull back.

"You need to leave," I utter, closing my eyes as my mouth opens in readiness to pounce on him. I'm about to be outed; in front of Mrs. Cope, no less.

"Come this way, dear." She places her hands to each shoulder and attempts to usher me away from him.

I'm still clinging to him, and inevitably I drag him after me. He's not resisting, though. In fact, he's walking casually beside me appearing completely nonplussed that I'm unable to let him go.

Mrs. Cope practically forces me to lie on the bed in the small window-less room two doors down from the office. I do, dragging the red canary with me; both hands now twisting into the front of his shirt.

I have no idea what I'm doing, but with my body now working against my mind, I whip my head to the side, attempting to maintain some form of untainted air. It's ridiculous, something I probably appear to be, because he is only inches from me. I am literally all but pulling him on top of me.

"Um..." he mumbles out, but there's an element of amusement in his voice. I'm sure he's used to girls throwing themselves at him, but nothing to this extent I'd wager.

"Do...not get ahead of your...self. I am...not even remotely in...control of myself...right now," I speak up rigidity and on very little breath. "Oh god, mother in heaven..." I close my eyes, but it achieves nothing except to enhance my sense of smell.

"Let me know if you're gonna puke, all right?" he says, not even hiding the fact that he's in great enjoyment over my predicament. Something he's going to brag about later with the boys, no doubt.

"Stop talking," I whisper, eyes clamped shut regardless, and no matter how futile it is because right now it's my only defense.

"You got an epi pen, or something?" He ignores my request.

I don't respond. I simply close my eyes and continue to draw that scent of him deep into my lungs. I'm locked in torment, my throat burning as I all but gasp for air that is not infused with the pure aphrodisiac that is this young male's essence.

The fact that I am able to resist is something of a miracle, and using it as a distraction I consider it further. Maybe it's because I'm well fed, or maybe my greed is overriding my deepest instincts, because I realize now, if I start feeding on him, I won't be able to stop until I bleed him dry.

And that is _not_ something I want.

"You know, you have really unusual eyes," he comments after I open them again and stare at him for a good thirty seconds, contemplating the whys and wherefores of this reaction I'm having to him. I want to devour him, and... Well, I'm not even sure what else right now. "They're almost," he peers closer, and I again I practically convulse in an effort to maintain the distance, "deep...red..."

"They're mahogany b-brown," I insist stammering, once again squeezing my eyes shut and turning my head away from him.

"They're definitely red."

"You can leave."

"You'll have to let go of me first."

"Son of a bitch..." I mutter, gasping for any kind of air that isn't contaminated by him. I'm suffocating as equally as I'm going out of my mind.

Twenty minutes later Mommy Dearest arrives to take me home. She steps into the room, sees the sight of me clinging to the red canary as if my life depended on him, while her mouth falls open in obvious shock.

"Bella, let him go," she says in a soothing voice as she attempts to pry my hands free from him.

She's successful, before she turns to a now smirking Edward to explain my strange behavior. "When she has these allergic reactions she tends to grab hold of the closest person near her to anchor herself."

"Ah..." The bastard actually appears to weight it up.

"It's nothing to do with you, pretty boy!" I snap at him and only succeed in making his grin grow broader.

"I believe you."

"We need to leave—_now_," I warn Esme, and with a quick nod, she assists me off the bed and whisks me from the room.

"Bella, I'm so proud of you!" Actually she's overjoyed, and she was unable to rid the grin from her face the entire trip home. "If you can resist a human whose blood appeals to you on that level you've definitely had your first breakthrough," she continues to gush, following me to my room even as I slam the door on her face.

"Stop deluding yourself. I'm biding my time," I inform her, before I exit my room by way of the open window; dropping thirty feet to the forest floor.

If I'm going to desensitize myself to my red canary in order to keep him around to snack on, I need something that holds his scent.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading. **


	5. Chapter 4

**A/N: okay, so apparently posting another story got me writing again... I just finished another chapter of this one and I'm almost done with chapter 27 of Hoodwinked! I swear my brain just likes to make a liar out of me. Though, Thursday night my hairy man (it's what I call my husband) bought a second air purifier for the house. I'm feeling a ton better. Anyway, since my MO is to post chapters when another one is completed, here's chapter 4.  
Remember when I said you might not like Bella...**

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**Black Swan**

**Chapter 4**

"**Actually, I kinda would like to fuck with you, Bella" **a message comes through to my phone as I'm waiting high up in the canopy of the forest half a mile north of the school.

For a short period, I only stare down at the screen, at the pure audacity of this human, while anger and frustration steadily converges on me. I can feel the fiery ice of my blood accumulating in my face, as my hand squeezes around the limb of the tree I'm clinging to so hard it explodes in my grip.

"What the fuck?" I burst, wondering how the hell he even got my number. "Oh, fuck you, fuck, son of a—fuck this!—I'm going to kill this bastard!" I ramble, fuming to myself as I drop to the ground. I can detect his scent even from this far out, and intermingled as it is with the distinct smell of the forest. I follow it out, but it doesn't lead back to the school as I initially presumed; it leads south to a dead-end road adjacent the same woods that flank the area.

A silver car is parked along the graveled-edge, and there is more than a single occupant inside. I'm a couple of hundred feet away when I realize what's taking place, and sneering to myself I quicken my step.

Inside, a bare white ass is pumping up and down between an even whiter pair of legs as a hand curls around that bizarre-toned hair of his.

Using my phone, I tap on the window. The red canary jumps, a shriek emitting from his female companion who I immediately recognize as Lauren Mallory; one of the more _promiscuous_ girls of Forks. Then yanking open the door, I grab the shirt off his back and haul him to the side of his car.

"What the fuck!" he bursts, his green eyes comically wide with shock.

"If you ever contact me again, I _will _be fucking with you, Sonny Jim. I can promise you that!" I threaten him, only to almost choke on the amassing saliva that begins to flow into my mouth as the scent of his blood again hits me.

Releasing him, I stagger backwards, both hands automatically clutching to my throat.

A scoffing sound bursts from him, and when I look over to him he's smirking to himself as he languidly buttons up his jeans.

"Sonny Jim?" he questions dubiously, arching a derisive brow when his eyes meet mine.

My mouth falls open at the brazen confidence of this human. He's so clueless and completely maddening I can scarcely wrap my head around it.

"What?" I demand.

"How the hell did you find me?"

"What?" I attempt again, shaking my head against my growing aggravation and fluster.

"And fuck me, you're a strong little thing."

"WHAT?" I explode. "Who gave me your number?"

"Huh?"

"I mean"—I shake my head again, my anger and frustration reaching critical levels—"who gave you _my _number?"

He shrugs both shoulders. "Dunno."

"What do you mean, _you don't know_?"

"They were anonymous. Now answer my question. How did you find me?"

"It wasn't exactly hard. Isn't this where all the hillbillies come to proliferate?"

"What?" he asks, his voice edging with disbelief as he breaks into laughter. "Who the hell talks like that?"

"Do you have a death wish?" I seethe. Why I am allowing him to live is beginning to baffle me. I have not tolerated this kind of human, _ever_.

"You going to kill me?" he taunts me, effectively pushing my patience past breaking point.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, and openly displaying the extent of my strength, I drag him stumbling and falling over his feet into the edge of the forest out of view from Lauren and anyone else who might wander by.

"Listen here, my little red canary," I begin, my anger manifesting as complete calm as I force him to his knees before me. "I _am_ going to kill you, but how long you live is entirely up to you and how well you behave."

His expression has morphed into one of pure astonishment as his mouth opens and closes repeatedly in silence.

Smirking to myself, I grab his cheeks with my fingers and squeeze, drawing him closer. "Not so cocky now, are you?" Then adding the magnum opus, I take in a single lungful of his scent and allow him to see my canines as they draw.

He jolts violently backwards, an utterance bursting from him as he attempts to scramble away from me. He's not going anywhere, however, and pulling him roughly back to me, I bring my lips to his neck and close my eyes. My throat begins its agonizing burn again, but I force myself to resist even as I play a very dangerous game.

"I'm going to feed from you," I whisper in his ear, allowing my fangs to graze against his flesh, "and when I'm done with you, I'm going to kill you. That is your fate, and you will deserve it."

He shakes his head numbly back and forth, but his voice and all sound has left him in wake of his now very evident fear.

I only nod is response, deliberately mocking him before grabbing a handful of the bulge behind his jeans. A guttural sound erupts from him and he squeezes his eyes tightly shut as if he fears I might permanently maim it.

"Just as I thought." I snort, and releasing him, I run my index finger over the roughness of his very sharply-angled jawline. "I'll see you soon."

And then I'm gone.

**. . .**

"Okay, what have you done?" Rose questions me the next day during lunch break.

"Hm?" I reply after severing my gaze from my red canary. He's at school today, but that doesn't surprise me; humans do value their theory of safety in numbers.

"He's a pasty, trembling mess."

"Put the fear of god in him already, Bella?" Emmett snickers.

"Close..." I allude, when Rose very pointedly sighs.

"So you revealed yourself to him." It's not a question.

"You should have thought of that before you gave him my number," I say, narrowing my eyes as I recall my offense to it.

She openly scoffs as if it's complete nonsense. "Honestly, Bella, is that something I would _ever _do?" She has a point; such displays have always been beneath her dignity.

"Then how did he get it?"

"His father's a lawyer," Emmett weighs in, and I contemplate it.

"Hm, so he is."

"Apologize, bitch!" Rose demands over dramatizing it, no doubt in hopes I'll compensate her.

"Not going to happen. Your eyes will turn and the warden will blame me."

"She'll blame _me_," Rose adds dryly, and she's probably right. My age tends to sway accountability away from me as if eighty-five is the vampire equivalent of a pre-pubescent.

"What if he blabs?" Rose speculates, and I snort at that one.

"Who'll believe him?"

"Idiots who read Anne Rice."

"_Idiots_ aren't who I'm worried about. Anyway," I wave my hand, "will you two vacate?"

"Why?" Rose puts to me, immediately suspicious.

"I'm having pork ribs for lunch."

"Come on," Emmett says, pulling himself to his feet and grabbing Rose's hand. "She's not going to do anything in front of hundreds of kids."

"You are aware of what an abject crazy bitch she is, right?" Is Rose's conclusion, but she allows Emmett to lead her out regardless.

Red Canary is making every effort to avoid eye contact with me. It's kind of frustrating actually, and so giving up that he'll eventually glance in my direction, I walk straight up to him and grab his hand. "Come have lunch with me, lover."

He jerks in his seat as silence immediately befalls the entire table; each pair of eyes glancing between the two of us in obvious curiosity. They're all aware of Edward's out-of-character mood, and I am certainly not one to approach any of them.

Mechanically, Edward pulls himself to his feet and without releasing his hand, I draw him back to my table. His scent is still as dizzyingly potent, but with the knowledge that I'm soon going to enjoy him repeatedly, I find I'm able to resist it with a lot more ease.

He sits opposite me, his eyes fixed to the floor.

"You don't strike me as the shy type, Edward."

"What do you want?" he asks in a mumble without raising his eyes to mine.

"Nothing. Just being sociable," I say lightly.

"Why me?"

"Hmm?"

He glances up at me this time, and his eyes are instilled with not only fear but an inevitability. "Why did you choose me?"

"Because you're you."

"What does that mean?" His voice is flat, monotone. I almost pity the guy.

"Your blood appeals to me."

"So you're going to fuck with me, is that it? Just for fun?" Something sparks in his eyes; defiance perhaps if he didn't look so defeated.

I break into a small, amused smile. "I am."

"Then get it over with," he mutters.

"That wouldn't be the definition of 'fuck with' now would it?"

"I knew you and blondie were too good-looking to be real."

"Oh, we're real." I gauge him for several minutes as he stares at his lap. "Tell me something."

He glances up again, but only briefly. "What."

"Yesterday in the cafeteria. Why did you give me that odd look?"

"I saw blood—which makes sense."

"What?" I ask vacantly, almost unsure I heard him correctly.

"I saw blood," he repeats.

"What do you mean _you saw it_?"

He jerks a shoulder. "I see things when I look at people. It's just my thing."

"Do you read minds?"

"Not exactly."

"I have a shield. You shouldn't have _seen_ anything," I state more or less to myself. It's always up as a matter of default, unless his scent yesterday threw me so much that it lowered.

He shrugs again, his green eyes avoiding mine at all cost.

"Look at me," I instruct him, and he does, albeit begrudgingly.

"What do you see now?"

"Nothing."

"And now?" I say after I let my shield down.

"Blood, and... two people in a car..." He visibly shudders and looks away again.

"And now?" I expand it this time, covering not only the cafeteria but the entire school.

His brow furrows and for the next few moments he glances around, from one student to the next, not only confused but frustrated. "What did you do?"

"I can shield not only myself..." I allude to my gift.

"Can you all do that?"

"No, that's just me. I'm special." I wink at him and frowning he jerks his head to the side. He's having an internal tantrum, I realize.

"You going to make me sit with you every day?"

"Maybe."

"Bella..." he glances up again and meets my eyes squarely.

"Hm?"

"If I let you feed off me will you let me live?" He sounds almost desperate. Poor shmuck.

"_Let me_ feed from you?" I arch a brow in deliberate emphasis.

"You know what I mean," he mumbles.

"Probably not."

"Why?" he almost demands.

"Because I really don't care for you type."

"My type?"

"Teenage males."

"In two years I won't be a teenager." He attempts to charm me, and I almost laugh.

"That won't work on me, bucko."

"Bucko? You don't talk like a teenager."

I do laugh this time, ironically. "You think I'm a teenager?"

"How old are you?"

"Older than you."

"What if I run?"

"I'll find you."

"How can you be out in the daylight?"

I roll my eyes at his blatant naivety. "Is your life a movie?"

"No."

"Then why would mine be?"

"So, I can't stake you?"

"You can try." I smirk.

"Would it kill you?"

"No."

"How can I—" he begins when I cut him off.

"Are you really going to ask me that?"

"Holy water?"

"Our father who art in Heaven... Did that bother me? Hm?"

"Shit," he mutters.

"Yep. You're screwed, Sonny Jim."

"What if I tell?"

"Try it and see what happens."

He huffs and folds two very sculpted arms across his chest; pouting again.

"Let's play a game," I speak up after a moment of observing him. He is rather handsome. Possibly the most handsome I've ever encountered, and in such a backwater town, too.

"What game?"

"What's the worst thing you've ever done to someone?"

He laughs dryly. "You're going to ask me that after what you did to those people in Seattle? Really?"

"How do you know it was in Seattle?"

"I saw the basketball courts. I've been there before."

"Huh." I consider it. "What did you see me doing?"

"You killed them."

"How?"

"I'm not sure," he admits.

"Then how do you know I killed them?"

"I just know."

"So, what's the worst thing _you've _ever done?" I veer back.

"I haven't killed anyone," he retorts, raising his voice a little too much.

"I didn't ask you that," I reply, placing my index finger to my lips.

"I don't know." He's growing frustrated. And impatient.

I smile. "You're lying."

"How do you know?"

"I've been around long enough to tell."

"I...I feel bad about it."

"About _what_?"

"The worst thing I've done."

"Tell me."

"No."

"I can make you," I say simply.

"Then do it," he directly challenges me.

I snort. "Silly boy. You think I can't get you alone?"

"I'm _not_ a boy." His expression darkens, and I almost laugh again. I've offended him this time.

"Of course you are."

"Maybe to you, Granny," he sulks, attempting to insult me in return, but I'm not too bothered by it.

"I'm not a grandmother."

"How old are you?"

"Guess."

"One hundred."

"Close."

"So you're not that old." His brows raise as if he's surprised by it.

"In my world, no."

"How old is blondie?"

"Older than me."

"And her..."

"Husband?"

"She's married to him?" He's in disbelief.

"Yes. Emmett is older than me but younger than Rose."

"How old were you when you were...?" He doesn't say it.

"Turned?"

"Yeah."

"How old do I look?"

"Eighteen."

"Close."

"Seventeen?"

"Affirmative."

"Why were you turned?"

"I was dying."

"Oh..." he murmurs, his eyes drawing back to the floor.

I suddenly catch myself, realizing I'm giving him an awful lot of information. I can't even state why; just that my curiosity is piqued over him. And I want him to tell me his darkest secrets. I like to know in advance how I'm going to kill them. Whether I'll make them suffer, or make it quick.

"Okay, that will be all. Go back to your table," I instruct him, tilting my head toward his groupies who have been closely watching us the entire time. Acne Perm is more than a little threatened, and if she keeps looking at me the way she is she'll soon be doing it from traction.

"What if I don't?"

Good god, he's challenging me again. "Give me your hand."

"What?"

I offer him mine, and apprehensively he takes it. I squeeze it, not enough to break any bones, but enough for him to jerk in his seat and gasp back the pain of it.

"Go back to your table," I warn him this time.

He does. I watch him go, his tall, lean body slumped slightly forward in defeat. He's no longer the red canary he was yesterday, and I'm surprised to realize I'm disappointed. The cockier they are the more fun it is.

"How are you so strong?" he leans toward me and whispers ten minutes into the start of Biology.

I turn to him, my brow quirked. "What?"

"I mean, you don't feel strong. Just...cold."

"I'm both."

"How?"

"What a ridiculous question."

"Tell me," he continues when I whip my head back to the front of the room.

"Stop talking."

"How strong are you?" he continues to badger me nonetheless.

"You're not the brightest human, are you?" I murmur.

"I'm curious."

"You'll find out soon enough, but right now you're grating on my last nerve," I reply, my eyes fixed to the teacher as he explains chromosomal mutations on the white board.

He's closer to me than he was at the lunch table, and my will is wavering again. I'm forced to hold my breath for long periods, and I'm unable to stop my fangs from elongating. The desire to simply surrender is overwhelming, but I keep it at bay, steadfastly. A vampire can go a lifetime without finding their singer and I'm adamant about not wasting mine.

His ability to see into the mind perplexes me, also. I need to ask Carlisle about it.

"I'll make you a deal," I proposition him at the end of the class.

He turns to me, his brow knotting. "What?" He's reluctant, so reluctant I almost break into a smile.

"Keep Fake ID out of my way."

"Who?" he asks in confusion.

I nod discreetly in the direction of Rose's favorite vomiter.

"Newton? Sure." He shrugs a shoulder. "But what do I get in return?"

"I'll let you live for a little while longer."

"Fine," he mumbles, his expression darkening. Poor sod thought I was letting him completely off the hook.

"Good." I walk past him and out of class without turning back.

Because Rose is such an elitist bitch, we've been traveling to school in her red Merc—with her driving, of course. Apparently looking like Jane Mansfield who's been airbrushed into the next universe doesn't garner her enough attention.

My plans for this afternoon don't involve either her or her car, though.

"You still owe me that AB Jack Daniels, bitch," she mumbles in my ear after catching up to me as I make my way toward the parking lot.

"I haven't forgotten."

"Your canary seems in better spirits. What's the story?"

"I threw him a bone."

"Are you mellowing?" She snorts; something I immediately return at her gullibility. "Where are you going?" she demands, stopping to pull her car keys from her purse; I continue walking.

"Pork ribs will take me home."

"Are you out of your mind!?" she blurts.

"God, you're an hysterical bitch." I roll my eyes. "Tell Mommy Dearest I'll be home later."

"Don't come back empty-handed," she warns.

I ignore her and head to the rear of the lot where Edward's small silver car is parked. He's sitting inside with Miss Teen Promiscuity 2019 beside him I quickly realize; his engine is running.

Opening the passenger side door, I reach in and pull Lauren out before taking her place.

"What the fuck—you broke the damn seat belt!" Edward exclaims.

"I don't need it," I assure him.

"You crazy fucking bitch!" Lauren yells, red-faced and irate as she picks herself up from the damp concrete to charge at me. I slam the door on her.

"You might want to keep her on a leash," I advise Edward, and hastily sliding the window down he leans over me to peer out up at her.

"I can't take you home today," he informs her, while I physically falter before him.

"What?" she hollers, and as the window slides closed I suddenly realize I'm pushing the limits of my restraint by putting myself in such enclosed quarters with him.

"_Drive_," I strangle out, eyes clamped shut as my canines pierce through the insides of my lip.

"Are you okay?" he asks, the concern in his voice palpable, and the irony is it's not for himself.

"Drive before you die!" I burst through clenched teeth as a long, growling moan escapes my lips.

He doesn't hesitate, and shifting his gear stick in reverse, he pulls out; tires screeching against the road.

I cling to the two torn pieces of seatbelt, not to anchor myself, but to prevent myself from reaching for this throat. The desire to do so is virtually overpowering, and my entire body trembles uncontrollably in my effort to keep myself restrained.

"Where are we going?" he asks after a moment, his voice small.

I take a gasping breath, and turning away from him, I free my hands and slide down the window. "Just drive," I answer, inhaling the icy air rushing at my face deeply. It alleviates the blood lust somewhat, and sitting back in the seat, I turn to him. "Open yours, as well."

He does before returning his hand to the steering wheel, his knuckles white. "Where are we going?" he ventures again.

"Stop wherever you want."

He does almost immediately on an elbow of road along the Olympic Highway. He turns to me, expecting me to exist, but I don't. He doesn't question me on it, and for the next several moments we sit in silence as I acclimatize myself to him. With each minute that passes, I slide the window up an inch, slowly enclosing his scent around me again.

"What's wrong with you?" he asks when once more the physical repercussions of my actions assault my senses.

"I am fighting the almost irresistible urge to kill you," I answer without turning to him. I keep my focus on the road ahead, my breathing even, allowing—even welcoming—the clawing sensation of my throat on fire.

"Why don't you just get it out of the way," he resumes his line of questioning again, and I laugh.

"What fun would that be?"

"Do you have any empathy for the people you kill? Their families?"

"No."

"Why does Blondie and her husband drink animal blood?"

"Because they're nihilists." I close my eyes, swallowing past the saliva flooding into my mouth.

"So...not all vampires are psychopaths."

I roll my head against the rest, facing him. "By what definition?"

"How would I know," he mutters, turning his gaze ahead of him, both hands clutching the wheel.

"Who says I'm a psychopath?"

"You have no empathy for those you kill. That's the clinical definition of one," he says quietly.

I smile to myself. "What are you?—a criminal psychologist?"

"I was planning on being one. Before I crossed paths with a vampire, anyway—what's so funny?" His eyes narrow as they meet mine.

"You," I say candidly.

He scowls, and tsking to himself he averts his gaze again.

"Tell me something."

"What."

"Are you a vegetarian?"

"No."

"Do you feel empathy for the cow, or lamb, when you're eating it?"

"...No," he murmurs inevitably, bowing his head.

"Are you a psychopath?"

He turns to me again; squarely this time. "I never used to be a cow or lamb."

"Does a lamb understand what it's like to be human?"

He opens his mouth, but shuts it again, shaking his head a little in obvious frustration. "Have you forgotten what it's like?"

I consider it for a moment. "It's not that I've forgotten. It's that my instincts and emotions are now completely different. You're food, and I'm not a vegetarian, either."

"Then turn me."

"No chance."

"Why?—why do I have to die!?" His eyes are beseeching, and it's more than a little pitiful.

"You're alive now, aren't you?"

"For how long?!" he demands, anger flashing boldly in his face.

"For as long as I see fit!" I snap, quickly growing irritated by him.

"Kill me now!" he bursts. "Go on, you fucking animal—_do it_!" He yanks the collar of his shirt down and exposes his neck to me.

In an instant I'm against him, my fingers around his throat, cutting off blood and oxygen supply to his brain. He attempts to speak, to cry out, but he can't; he's slowly losing consciousness in my grip even as he futilely attempts to free himself. My attention isn't on him, though, but on his jugular vein as it begins to bulge. I can smell it, the pure alkaline sweetness of his blood swelling behind it. My eyes roll back and the urge to close my mouth over it and consume him overtakes me.

This time, I don't fight it.

Both fangs cut into his skin before I slice into his carotid artery just as sheer, unmitigated rapture pours into me.

"_Bella_," he gasps, "_please...don't_..."

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**A/N: thanks for reading.**


	6. Chapter 5

**A/N: I'm slowly getting my muse back. I'm almost finished with the next chapter of Hoodwinked. This chapter has been edited - thanks Kim! I wasn't an impatient mofo, this time ;) And thanks also to StarryEyedWriter8 for pre-reading.**  
**Just a reminder, some canon from the books I'm using and some I'm not. If that helps.**  
**I now have a banner for this story by the fabulous Beegurl13. Go suss it out. It's on my profile.**

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**Black Swan**

**Chapter 5**

I have no idea where I find the strength of will to stop, but I do.

It could have been the terrible sound of his heart in arrhythmia entering the final throes of death, or the feel of his skin as it lost all color and warmth against me; or the shallow raspy sound of his dying breath; or perhaps it was simply my desire to not have this over with in one succession.

Whatever it was, I pull back, and biting into my own tongue, I heal his wounds closed. The damage is done, though. I've drained too much of his blood to sustain life. He has mere minutes to live, and I am suddenly overrun with panic.

I need to know his dark secrets; he cannot die on me.

Kicking open the passenger side door, I pull his limp body into my arms and set off for the roughly five mile journey home. He's at least ten inches taller than I am, which makes it difficult. I can't prevent his long limbs from getting scratched and banged up along the way, but my main focus is protecting his head. At the speed I'm traveling, one bump could crush his skull, and his heart...It's growing shallow and faint and he's barely breathing. In the minute it takes me to arrive at the house, he's taken only three very labored breaths.

I made sure Alice would see me coming. I lowered my shield and called out to her, screaming for her to get Carlisle's clinic ready.

They're waiting for me; all of them sans the one I need most, and Jasper, of course. I'm—we all are—proficient in the basics of surgery though. Carlisle trained us well. So, needless to say, I know how to start a transfusion, intubate and keep the heart and lungs functioning if necessary.

Esme immediately intervenes, ushering me out of the room and locking the door.

"He's A Positive, Esme! _A Positive_!" I yell, banging against the solid oak, but I dare not break it in. This time she might legitimately murder me. He's still alive, though. I can hear his heart; it's dangerously erratic but it's still beating.

"Bella." It's Jasper. He places an arm around my shoulders and gently pulls me backwards. "Let it go."

It's my shield he's referring to, and with a heavy breath, I allow it to fall. I'm instantly engulfed by that oddly intoxicating serenity of his.

"What have I done?" I lament, falling into a chair in the living room where he led me.

"Aside from showing remorse?" he questions, sitting opposite me.

"...I..." I shake my head. Remorse? Me? Are the two even synonymous? "I wasn't...I mean, I wasn't supposed to. Not yet. Not until I..."

"Bella..."

"What?"

He only shakes his head in answer, in silent reiteration.

Jasper is a man of few words, but with emotions that run deep. He's an empath; it's Carlisle's theory on how he's able to influence the medium around him, and why he struggles so much with going vegan. His senses are just as heightened as his emotions.

We differ in that retrospect. Whereas, Jasper feels too much, I don't feel _anything—_for humans most especially.

"So..." I mumble with a sense of resignation, my gaze falling to the hardwood floor beneath our feet, "what am I feeling?"

He takes a very deliberate breath and releases it into a hum, and raising my head, I meet his eyes. They're reflective, his brow furrowed. "I'm not sure. You're all over the place."

"Score one for captain obvious," I mutter, snapping my shield back in place like an elastic. I don't like to be so open and subject to criticism at the best of times, and certainly not now.

"You're confused more than anything, but you're definitely feeling remorse."

"Don't be ridiculous!" I reply scornfully, because _remorse_ over killing a human? Such a thing doesn't exist within me, at least not in the context Jasper is thinking.

He only surveys me with that all-knowing, canny smile of his, but I pay him little regard. My attention is solely on my red canary and I'm more than a little uneasy over his condition. I keep my focus on the rate of his heart, listening intently for any discrepancies that would indicate he's going downhill; there are very few.

Esme, Alice, Emmett and Rose all pull him back from the brink of death.

Within two hours he's stabilized, and after replacing the volume of blood he lost—from our in-case-of-Bella emergency supply—his heart soon falls back into a steady rhythm.

Esme remains with him monitoring his heart rate, blood pressure and body temperature before calling Carlisle to inform him of what I've done. I hear his breath wash over the receiver multiple times, but after Esme assures him Edward's stable, he decides it's best not to arouse anyone's suspicions by coming home early. He's due to leave soon anyway, and it'll give him and Esme time to concoct an elaborate story so we won't have to flee yet another town.

For my part, I don't want to leave Forks either, for reasons I'm not quite ready to rationalize with. Deciding it's Edward's blood and nothing more, I leave it at that while I wait to face Esme's ire.

To my surprise, she appears rather calm. She's a little concerned and most definitely wearied, but angry she is not. _At all_.

"I'm so proud of you, Bella," she repeats her sentiments from the day before after calling me into her room. "You showed great restraint and maturity."

"So, he's okay?" I inquire after shrugging off her compliments irritably.

"He will be, yes." Nodding, I turn to leave when she reaches out and grabs my hand. "Can you wait for Carlisle?"

"Why?"

"He wants to speak to you."

"Can it wait?"

"No. He'll be home soon." She purses her lips, her tone edging with authority and the warden is back. I decide not to push her; I'm not completely stupid.

I seek out Alice instead, shoving open her bedroom door so hard the knob imbeds into the plaster of the wall. "You said I wouldn't eat anyone!" I remind her in accusation.

"I said you wouldn't _kill_ anyone," she clarifies with a small, impatient sigh.

"You couldn't give me a heads up?"

"How can I when you keep me deliberately out?"

"Are you telling me you didn't see this coming?" I arch a skeptical brow, not even remotely convinced.

"Whether you've been aware of it, or not, you've been shielding him as well.

"_What_?" I blurt. "Why would I do such a thing?"

"How would I know? Again, you shut me out..." she repeats her point.

"So, no deaths at Forks High?"

"Nope."

"You sure about that?"

"Positive. Unless you decide on a bloodbath in the next five minutes," she replies dryly.

"And him?" I ask, referring to my red canary.

"I'm not sure."

"What does that mean?"

"Obviously, you haven't decided."

"Is he alive twelve months from now?"

She hesitates. It's only for the barest moment but enough to be noticeable. "Yes."

"...What?" I ask suspiciously.

"Nothing," she says simply.

"Will he tell anyone...about us?"

"No." There's no hesitation this time, but I'm positive a ghost of a smirk pulls at her lips.

I sigh. "What do you see?"

"Nothing that's concrete."

"But he's alive in the future?"

"He's alive."

"Alice..." I complain. She's being deliberately cryptic and she knows I'm aware of it.

"It's all I've got." She shrugs a shoulder. "You're fixing my wall, too."

"Wouldn't count on it," I mutter, grabbing the door handle and slamming it shut behind me again.

Carlisle arrives home, walking past me to his clinic with an exhausted sounding sigh. "Not yet, Bella."

"I didn't say anything," I mumble half beneath my breath petulantly, my gaze fixed to the door of his clinic and my ears entrenched on the semi-lucid teenager behind it.

He's coming around but he's groggy and incoherent, and he's actually apologizing to Esme for _pushing_ me.

Esme gets all motherly on him and assures him he did nothing wrong, while Carlisle plants the story into his barely conscious mind. We went hiking together—him and I—when he fell down a small embankment and hit his head. Carlisle knows he can explain away the wooziness he'll feel over the next several days as side effects from a concussion.

"If you meant to scare him, I don't think it worked," Rose says as she passes me, a blatant smirk on her lips.

"Bite me, Barbie," I retort sarcastically.

She laughs. "AB, bitch. Don't think I've forgotten."

I only roll my eyes, my attention past her.

After checking over his vitals, Carlisle calls Emmett into the room and instructs him to carry Edward out to his car. "I'll take him and stay with him at the hospital tonight," he explains to Esme, who nods her head stoically.

"What about Bella?" she whispers, as if I couldn't hear every word of their conversation.

"I'll speak to her in the morning."

I follow Emmett out as he carries my partially conscious red canary toward the internal entrance to the garage.

"Bella..." Carlisle cautions me, closing in behind me and taking my elbow.

"Just..." Shaking my head and pulling from his grip, I continue to trail after Emmett; after those long limbs that hang practically to the floor, and that strange colored head of hair as it bobs along with Emmett's strides.

"She's fine," I hear Esme reassure him, but she's completely wrong. I am everything _but _fine.

I watch as Emmett opens the door of Carlisle's Mercedes and lays Edward down along the back seat. For the purposes of pretense, he has a bandage wrapped around his head with his hair sticking up over it, and in keeping with Carlisle's _diagnosis_, he's drowsy and only partially conscious.

He moans softly and attempts to shift his body in the seat, but seemingly unable to, he opens his eyes and gazes around him. That's when they meet mine, and for a moment, he only stares at me. There's no accusation or condemnation in them like there should be; nothing but a slight confusion. The same way he looked at me when I first saw him in the cafeteria.

However, something is happening to me. I'm not sure what exactly, but I'm beginning to feel restless and overrun by...I'm not even sure. It's my heart and lungs, my body of skin, they feel almost alien. There are no other words to describe it, and whatever it is, I don't like it.

"He smells..._different_," I note in a whisper. There's a light trace of his scent that lingers, but overall he smells completely unappetizing.

"It's the blood he received. It will only be temporary," Carlisle answers. "Bella, go back inside. We'll speak later." He wraps an arm around my shoulders and turns me toward the house.

"I'm fine," I snap, jerking him from me.

"Please, don't do anything reckless until I return."

I nod in answer, but I'm beginning to feel numb, and in defeat, I make my way inside; it's not for long, though.

"Rose, come with me," I instruct her after barging my way into her and Emmett's bedroom.

She's lying on her chaise, flicking through a fashion magazine when she immediately pulls herself upright. "Where...?"

"I need to...hunt." I cover my mouth with my palm. I feel almost nauseated, if that were even possible.

She shakes her head, looking uncertain. "Bella, I can't...I can't go with you when you kill."

"I just...Rose, _please_, you have to come with me!" I burst with a little too much desperation.

"Okay, but _why_?" she asks, her voice softening with concern.

"I need to _see_!"

"See...?" She shakes her head again, relaying her confusion this time.

"Whether it's him or me—why I'm like this."

Nodding, she pulls herself off her chaise and wraps her arm around me. "Okay, let's go."

"What's wrong with me?" I ask in a whisper, breaking the silence while we're driving down the Olympic highway.

Rose is at the wheel, and she seems distracted, but it's not as if she's about to run us off the road; not with the kind of reflexes awarded to an immortal. "It's his blood, Bella. That's all." She doesn't look at me.

"You really think so?" I'm hopeful.

"Of course." She glances at me and throws me a tight smile. "His blood sings to you. It's normal to feel some kind of...investment."

"I'm _not invested_!" I emphatically state, but I really can't be sure of it myself.

Neither can Rose, and is no doubt the reason why her smile turns sympathetic. "What if you realize it _is_him?" she asks the question that's been monopolizing my thoughts the last several hours; the question that's been haunting me.

"I don't know," I mumble.

"Would you turn him?"

"No! Are you insane, woman?!" I blurt out in disbelief.

"Okay," she attempts to placate me, "it was just a question. It worked for me, though."

It did work for Rose. She fell in love with Emmett on sight, and the instant he opened his vampire eyes, her feelings were reciprocated, but Rose and Emmett were an exception, as were Carlisle and Esme. While vampires mate for life, it's not exactly common for it to begin with a human.

"It's..." I let it go with an agitated sigh. I have no idea what it is, and that's not like me at all.

"Jasper has a theory," Rose speaks up a moment later. "About a human's blood that sings to a vampire."

"What?"

"That they are that vampire's mate in human form."

I roll my eyes. "That sounds _exactly_ like something Jasper would say. God, he's such a sap."

Rose grins in obvious agreement before her expression becomes serious. "Bella..."

"Hm?"

"Only Carlisle and Esme knows this..."

I turn to her and gauge her curiously. "Know what?"

"Emmett...his blood sang to me as well..."

"_What_?" I utter, shocked. "Why—I mean, you...how come..."

"It was personal," she explains what I can't properly articulate. "Something intimate between me and Em."

"Rose!" I declare.

"What?" she asks blankly, glancing over at me again.

"Don't tell me you _honestly_ believe _that boy_ is my mate in human form?" I scoff, because it's ridiculous. I might desire his blood, but that's strictly all there is to it. Plus, he's _that age_. I don't do _eighteen_ in any form.

She shrugs a shoulder. "I'm just telling you what I know."

"He's eighteen, I'm eighty-five—what could I possibly have in common with him?"

"Bella," she begins, sounding suddenly bemused, "you were turned at seventeen, and despite your vocabulary, mentally you are _a lot_ closer to that age than you are eighty-five."

"What are you saying?!" I demand, offended.

"Exactly what I said."

"You think I'm..._immature_?"

"It's not just me," she says wryly.

"Bitch!"

She only laughs.

"Did you feed off him?" I veer back to the subject of her and Emmett after a pause where I contemplated holding a grudge.

"No," she answers a little too simply.

"How did you stop yourself?"

"It wasn't easy, but he had already lost so much blood. I think the fact that his heart was failing lessened my hunger for it. How did you stop once you started feeding on _Mr. Masen_?"

I turn away from her glancing out the window. It's raining, but that's all it seems to do in this town. "I've been asking myself the same question all afternoon," I murmur more or less to myself. I have no answers for how or why. None at all.

"Hm..." she hums, a small shrewd smile pulling on her lips.

I nudge her. "Stop smiling, you wench."

Her smile only broadens and becomes toothy. "Take from it what you will."

"I'm sure Alice would have seen it," I muse out loud.

"Who says she hasn't..."

My head snaps toward her and I scrutinize her for several seconds. "What aren't you telling me?" I question her. "Has she said anything? Is this whole move here some kind of match-making scheme?" My voice increases in volume with each word I speak until I'm all but yelling.

"Not so loud!" she protests. "She hasn't said anything. At least, not that I know of."

"You'd tell me, right?" I ask, desperately clinging to our sisterhood.

"Of course, I would," she replies as if it went without saying.

"If I find out you were all conspiring to get me shacked up with a teenage hillbilly, I'll skin you alive," I threaten her, and I'm not even remotely kidding.

"Hillbilly?" She quirks a dubious brow at me. "Bella, his family is quite _well-to-do_—_Edward Anthony Masen the third_?"

I jerk an irritable shoulder. "It's irrelevant. He's little more than an infant."

"You're seventeen. He's eighteen..."

"I'm _eighty-five_," I reiterate stubbornly, "and he is everything I detest."

"He's quite grounded, if you ask me."

"No one's asking you." I sulk. "And _grounded?_ Yesterday afternoon, I caught him fucking Lauren Mallory in a _cul-de-sac_!"

She laughs. "He wouldn't be the only one."

"Your point is?"

"He plays the piano," she completely disregards me.

"How _wonderful_," I retort sarcastically.

"He went to a private school in Chicago."

"How do you know all this?" I challenge her, past patience.

"I have ears to hear."

"You're worse than Acne Perm," I accuse her as her expression immediately contorts with repulsion.

"Ugh. Below the belt!"

"You of all people know what boys that age do to me!" I shouldn't have to remind her, Rose of all people.

"I know," she says with some tact.

"So why are you pushing this?!"

"Didn't I just explain in some detail why?" She arches a derisive brow this time, and I huff.

"Just because it happened to you doesn't mean it will for every other poor schmuck! How would you feel if I started pushing you toward a guy that reminded you of Royce?"

She flashes me a funny look, as if she's on the verge of laughter. "Bella, you have sworn off every eighteen year old male on the planet, vampire and human alike. I didn't. Royce was _loathsome_, but he was _one_ person. It didn't turn me off from every other twenty-one year old, did it? I would never have met Emmett, otherwise."

"It's not the same," I assert adamantly.

"How so? What it is about Edward that reminds you of..._him_?" she asks, delicately this time.

"Same rank within the high school hierarchy."

She sighs deliberately and for my benefit. "So you think going out now and killing some poor boy will prove what exactly?"

"I'm hoping I won't."

"And if you do?"

"We've covered that already," I mumble, unwilling to admit it, but Rose is already aware.

If I can kill another male, then the problem is _not_ with me, but with my red canary.

**. . .**

Rose drops me off in Port Angeles, and promising to bring her back her precious AB with Jack Daniels, I set out to find the most benign male possible. I find him on a park bench, a block from the waterfront. Baseball practice is underway, and while he's sitting directly opposite the diamond, his attention is firmly fixed to the book in his lap.

"Hi," I reply brightly, sitting down and turning to face him. His hair is combed in a style akin to the 50s, slicked to the side, and he's wearing a collared shirt buttoned all the way up to his Adam's apple. He's as far removed from the Edward Masen's of the world as I once was.

He looks up and immediately balks, his eyes all but bulging out of their sockets. After sixty-seven years, this reaction still surprises me. "H-hello," he stammers.

"Bella." I offer him my hand.

He stares at me for a pause, his eyes flickering from mine to my outstretched hand and back again, like he's unsure of my intentions. He is. "B-B-Ben." Apprehensively, he places his palm to mine before immediately releasing me. He's noticed the coolness of my skin, but it's not something I can conceal so I usually don't bother trying to. "P-pleased to m-m-meet you."

Tilting my head, I observe him. He either has a rather unfortunate stutter or my presence is causing him quite the stir. "Would you mind helping me, Ben? I'm lost."

"Oh." He blinks several times as if he has dust in his eyes. "Um s-s-sure."

Stutter it is.

"I parked my car opposite the grocery store, and now I can't find my way back—I'm new here."

"G-Grandview grocery s-store?" he inquires, eyes wide with disbelief as they take me in.

These kinds of scenarios don't happen to boys like him, after all.

"Yes, that's the one. Would you mind escorting me back?" I flutter my lashes, but it's not exactly needed. My face is more than enough to reel him in.

"I d-don't m-mind," he says a little too eagerly, before snapping his book shut and almost leaping to his feet.

I rise after him, and good God, he's barely an inch taller than I am, and his posture is slightly hunched over.

He takes me east through a thickly dense grove of trees roughly 400 feet in length at the rear of the block. While only meters to houses on all sides of the park, it's relatively secluded. It's almost as if he's leading himself to his own death—willingly.

I walk beside him, waiting until we're in the deepest part of the thicket to make my move. He's harmless and so I'm careful to make it quick. I drain him of little more than half his blood before I whip his head to the side, cleanly breaking his neck. He flounders in my grip, and healing the wounds left by my fangs, I allow him to slip through my arms and fall heavily to the ground, dead.

Then, leaping up into the tree directly above, I tear the largest limb from the trunk and drop it to Ben's limp body below. It lands roughly on his head, perfectly explaining his broken neck, and satisfied my actions won't evoke the underhanded wrath of Aro, or Mommy Dearest, I drop back to the ground.

For the longest time I only stare down at him, at this poor wretched human whose life I have just stolen, searching for something; for _anything_. For the slightest ounce of sentiment to prove I regret taking his life, but what I'm left with is..._nothing_. I _feel_ nothing, and I'm in complete and utter apathy.

Resignation is beginning to filter through me, and I realize now I can no longer rationalize it away. It's not just Edward's blood, it's Edward himself. I didn't kill him solely because it was _him_.

It's not me as I secretly hoped it would be; I haven't suddenly developed a conscience for humanity. It's _him_—_Edward Anthony Masen the third._ For whatever reason, I didn't want him to die.

I _don't_ want him to die.

"Well, _fuck_!" I exclaim.

* * *

**A/N: If you're not into Bella's indiscriminate killing, it's cool. Not all fics will be to everyone's taste. If you don't mind, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thank you for reading. **


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: Just dropping this off before I crash and burn. Buggered, buggered, buggered...**  
**Thanks to Kimmie45 and StarryEyedWriter8, and hope you like. Hoodwinked is still...not cooperating, but this evil bitch is monopolising all my time right now.**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 6**

The following evening Esme schedules another family meeting; about me, naturally. I expect to be lectured, to be forced to bear witness to her _abject disappointment—_the usual happenings—but the reality is far different.

"Bella," Carlisle breaks the silence after all six of my family members share very pointed glances, "given the nature of Edward's blood, we're leaving this decision up to you."

"...What decision?" I ask slowly, my gaze resting suspiciously on Alice. She knows something, of that I'm certain, and it's making me more than a little uneasy.

"Whether to stay or leave Forks," he answers in his usual staid tone.

"Why would I leave?"

"Because despite what your sister has foreseen we understand how much of a temptation his blood will be for you."

"I'm not going anywhere," I stand firm whether Alice has seen me feasting on his soul or not.

"Bella..." He sighs audibly, and whatever he planned on adding he soon abandons. "Very well."

"Is that all?"

"No more hunting," Esme warns me, her lips thinning in finality. "I cannot believe you killed that poor boy simply to satisfy your own curiosity."

Cue the disappointment.

"Yes, mother," I say sarcastically.

"Bella..." Carlisle again, a wearied sigh rushing through his nose this time. "Now would be a good time to switch to animal blood."

"No chance!" I blurt, because the man really has lost touch with reality.

He bows his head and massages his brow with his fingertips while Esme's eyes narrow as they fix to me. Emmett smirks, Alice smiles in that cagey way of hers; and Rose pulls out all stops not to snort. Jasper only stares at me as if trying to break through my shield to inflict his mental Xanax on me, but undeterred by all of them I rise to my feet.

"Where are you going?" Esme puts to me, her tone taking on that familiar edge of authority.

"_Nowhere_," I say like the typical sullen teenager I am so good at being.

"Good. You're staying in tonight—and yes, I _will_ make you," she interjects when I open my mouth to protest.

"Fine!" I snap, and sliding the dining chair roughly back in place, I head toward the stairs.

"It won't be long," I hear Alice add, but I pay her no regard. I'm the Achilles Heel in her foresight. She can't see my future unless I allow her to, and it will be a cold day in Hell before that happens again.

Pushing open my bedroom door, I enter, and that's when the scent hits me. _His _scent. It's so dense, it's almost as if I passed through water and am soaked through with him. That's when I notice its source; the navy blue Nike hoodie hanging over the arm of my chaise. He was wearing it yesterday, and picking it up I bring it to my nose. It's permeated with that insanely alluring essence of his; his essence that calls to me. _Only_ to me.

I close my eyes, internalizing the moan as it vibrates from my throat. My mouth waters, and my fangs extend so rapidly for a single moment they ache.

For the next several weeks he won't smell like this; not until his own white blood cells filter the donor leukocytes. It's the safest he will ever be around me, and when his natural scent returns it will be gradual. I'm hoping it will aid to anesthetize me to it, so I don't have another mishap like the day before. Until then however, this article of clothing is all I'll have.

I pull my arms through the sleeves, enjoying the dizzying aroma of him as I laze on my daybed and listen to music. I can still feel it, taste it; his blood pouring down my throat. There is no comparison to the absolute Elysium it brought me, and I can't imagine I will ever be able to return to the taste of normal human blood. That's why I have to keep him around. At all costs.

Anything else is elementary.

**. . .**

Word floating through the halls of Forks High School is my red canary won't be back until the following Monday. He has quite the headache by all accounts, and there's zero clue as to what really took place between the two of us. He's staying silent. For now.

Despite giving me the courtesy of deciding whether we, as a family, were staying, Esme makes me return to school; as punishment. And it _is_ punishment. As a human, I graduated high school with honors, and repeating it now is worse than pulling teeth.

Unfortunately, with Edward's _accident_, I'm once again the center of attention, and with the knowledge that I was _alone_ in the woods with _Mr. Popularity _himself, Acne Perm spends the next few days side-eying me. To be fair, I do attend school wearing Edward's hoodie, but she really is grating on my final nerve.

On Thursday, Fake ID decides to occupy Edward's lab stool. On Friday, I throat punch him—accidentally, of course. I do him no real harm, and it's worth Mommy Dearest confiscating my laptop just to see him choke near to death in front of me. I intend to hold my red canary to our deal; to keep the creep away from me.

My third week of school is concluded without a single death, and that alone is momentous for me. The irony is though, I have stopped counting down the days until it's over. My focus has shifted, and Friday night the object of my focus texts me. Five words, straight to the point. **Why didn't you kill me? **

I stare at it for the longest time wondering how he expects me to answer. I'm beginning to conclude he's reckless, or he has a more chronic sense of invisibility than your average red-blooded, single-score male.

**I told you not to contact me,** is how I decide to respond after an hour of deliberately leaving his message unanswered.

He replies almost instantly. **Answer me!**

**Why would I kill you? **I type, fast losing patience with him. This arrogance from him is irritating me, and I do not submit to the demands of any human; least of all his type. **You taste entirely too good.**

**Is that all? **He replies, and again it comes almost immediately.

**What did you expect?**

His answer this time takes longer, and arrives in three simple words. **I don't know.**

That appears all there is to it, and I receive no further communication from him all weekend. Esme keeps me under house arrest as further punishment over Fake ID, and the more I'm around Alice the more certain I am that she's keeping something from me. That's when I devise a plan, and unsurprisingly, my red canary makes it entirely too easy.

He contacts me again just after Homeroom Monday morning. **Can we talk?**

**Lunch, **I reply, and this human really has nerves of steel because without a single inhibition he walks straight up to the table I occupy with Rose and Emmett. He's right in front of me before I realize it, but then while his scent is so compromised I haven't been able differentiate him in a crowd.

"Hey," he greets me, and it's somewhat pleasing to detect the slight waver to his voice. He has a minimal awareness of danger, at the very least.

"_Hey_," I echo him dryly, and without a word spoken Emmett and Rose pull themselves to their feet and make their away outside.

He sits opposite me, and for the next half a minute he only gazes at me, his brow knotted with that completely maddening curiosity. He looks slightly pale, while in contrast, his eyes are a little too animated. "Why...are you wearing my sweater?" he eventually ventures.

"It's better than perfume."

"Oh..." he mumbles, his expression clouding as his eyes drop to his hands.

"How's your head?" I decide to play along, and he immediately raises it and throws me an almost mocking smile.

"Great," he mutters sarcastically.

"Now, now..."

"Can you at least answer me?" He sounds almost impatient.

"Answer what?" I ask.

"Why you didn't kill me?"

"Why do you think?"

"...I told you. I don't know." His eyes break from mine, his brow knotting, and in response I snort.

"Humans are so absurdly idiotic."

"What does that mean?" he asks, his gaze returning to mine.

"You no doubt think it was for some ridiculous sentimental reasons, am I right?"

"...I... No." His faces flushes, immediately contradicting him.

I laugh this time. "Sure thing, _Edward Anthony Masen the third_."

He frowns; in fact, he scowls at me. "If you must know, I heard your...the little one talking."

The little one? He can only mean Alice.

"Oh?" I arch a moderately curious brow.

"She was telling...your mother?" he pauses for me to nod in the affirmative. "She was telling her that-that you wouldn't kill me," he stammers.

I scoff bitterly and shake my head. "Are you willing to gamble your life on her? Hm?"

He shakes his head, but it's not in answer. In frustration, perhaps. Or maybe confusion. "I don't know what the hell I'm thinking."

"That's the smartest thing I've heard you say."

He utters out a disgusted noise and shakes his head again. "When are you going to feed from me again?"

"When you go back to smelling the way you did."

"Can you at least give me a heads up?" His tone this time is accusing; I don't appreciate it.

"Do you think you're in any position to make demands?"

"Does my life hold any value to you?"

I groan pointedly. "Do you honestly want to bemoan about this again?"

"Does it?" he insists, ignoring me.

"Not really." I shrug a casual shoulder. "You know, I didn't really take you for the whiney type."

"What type did you think I was?" he replies a little too sharply.

"Be very careful, Edward," I caution him.

He only glares at me defiantly. "If you expect me to just roll over and die quietly, you've got another thing coming."

I chuckle, because he's almost endearing. Like a puppy howling at its own shadow. "I don't want you _to just roll over_."

He huffs and mutters out how I'm a bitch under this breath as if he didn't expect me to hear him. I'm beginning to think he's either criminally naïve or just not very intelligent, at all.

"Is this why you wanted to bother me?" I put to him when he falls quiet. "To whine and insult me?"

He glances up at me, gauging me for a moment. "I...I just want to know where I stand. Can you give me that?"

I expel a semi-exasperated breath. "The little one—as you referred to her as—does not foresee you dying within the next several months. Is that good enough for you?"

He pauses again, the curiosity now burning behind his sharp green eyes. "How does she...know?" he asks the obvious question.

"She's psychic," I answer truthfully.

"...Do you all have...powers?" His brow furrows as if he knows how ridiculous it sounds.

"In one way or another."

"So, what do I do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing..." he echoes, his eyes downcast as he sucks in his cheeks.

I lean toward him, resting my elbows on the surface of the table. "But if you want to live longer, you won't ever push me like you did last week again. Understand?"

He glances up and meets my gaze, his expression resigned this time. "I don't mind you drinking from me. It'll be like donating blood, right?"

I falter, tilting my head as I scrutinize him, in disbelief almost. "You don't _mind_?"

He shrugs. "If I have no choice, then it's not the worst thing that could happen to me."

"Are you in control of your faculties?"

"What?" His expression becomes blank. "Of course I am."

"Is this some kind of misguided philanthropy, then?"

He almost smiles, but shakes his head. "The little one—"

"Alice."

"Huh?"

"The little one. Her name is Alice."

"Oh. Alice told me something..." he alludes, and I'm immediately suspicious.

"She told you _what_, exactly?"

"That you're not as scary as you want to appear," he answers, and while he's being completely forthright without any arrogance, I'm still fuming.

"You need to leave," I say abruptly.

"...What?" he asks with sudden uncertainty.

"_Now_!"

"Bella..."

"Are you hard of hearing?"

"I just," he begins, and reaching out I grab his wrist, yanking him closer to me. Hew winces, but with a pitiful display of male pride he attempts to hide it from me. He fails. "Ow."

"_Leave_," I warn him, my voice dropping to a threatening whisper.

"No." He straightens his back and directly challenges me again.

In return, I can only stare in at him, my steadily growing anger making me flustered as my mouth all but drops open.

"I saw."

"Saw _what_?" I demand after a moment of legitimately contemplating breaking his arm.

"What was in her mind."

I pause. Actually, I freeze as my already frigid blood turns to ice in my veins. "What did you see?" I ask but I'm not even minimally close to being ready for the answer.

"You...and me," he hesitates to answer as if sensing the danger he's in for the first time.

I squeeze his wrist, subconsciously this time. He flinches openly, but it has little impact on me. "In. What. Context?"

"At the prom."

**. . .**

I'm seething for the rest of the day, but it's not as if I can confront my pain in the ass psychic sister over it. I want to keep my mind reader a secret from her and use him to my advantage. What he's already revealed is enough, though. I'm fairly certain now my stint at Forks High is part of an elaborate scheme that stemmed from Alice's visions. I can barely conceive of it, though, because no matter how nice he smells I don't have the slightest regard for him. He represents everything I detest in humans, and that's not about to change any time soon.

The problem is, what he saw in Alice's mind, and whatever it was she said to him, has given him a false sense of security. And arrogance. It needs to stop.

"Do _not_ speak to me," I repeat my pre-Biology mantra at the entrance of class, pre-empting Fake ID before he can open his mouth.

"I didn't say anything," he replies, leering smile intact as if he thinks I'm somehow flirting with him.

I only glare at him, and to my surprise he's suddenly shoved forward—by my red canary, no less.

"Jesus, Newton, stop bothering her. She's not into you!" he snaps, sounding almost threatening, but then, I momentarily forgot that he leads the high school hierarchy, so it makes complete sense when Fake ID is immediately submissive.

I smirk, watching him shuffle off to his table in the back of the room before turning to Edward. "Well, what do you know, you actually do have your uses."

He smiles and it's almost relaxed, and then stepping a head of me he takes his stool; or rather he takes _my_ stool.

"You're in my seat," I state, less than impressed.

"It was my seat first."

"What are you?—ten?"

"Still my seat." He shrugs a shoulder dismissively.

Undeterred, I grab him by the collar of his shirt and forcefully remove him. The shock that besets his face is comical; more so, the reflexive _oof_-sound that bursts from him in the process.

"_My_ seat," I conclude triumphantly, dropping my books to the table as I sit myself in the stool and scrape it loudly in.

"Shit..." he mutters as if he's in awe. "You're strong."

I snort without turning my head to face him. "You're quick."

"You don't feel it," he comments stupidly, because it's the second time he's said that now. I only sigh, but otherwise ignore him. "Bella...?"

"What?" I reply lowly, my eyes remaining fixed ahead of me.

"The little—Alice told me we were going to be friends."

"Disregard it. She can't see my future unless I allow her to."

"She can see mine."

"You're starting to annoy me."

"She told me you're going to fight it."

"You're skating on thin ice, Edward."

"I wouldn't mind if we were."

I whip my head to him, my glare so hard he immediately cowers. "You think I'm some kind of trophy? To be paraded around by the likes of you?—is that it?"

His mouth opens, but in silence he shakes his head. "I...I didn't say that."

"We will _not_ be friends. You will be my meal, and if you're _very _lucky, my pet—and that's all!" I reply in a harsh whisper, because Acne Perm has hearing almost as sharp as mine.

"Your...pet?" he echoes, as if he heard wrong.

"You need to stop talking. You're irritating me more than Fake ID."

He does, for the immediate present at least, but not five minutes into class he turns to me and whispers, "Why do you call him Fake ID?"

"He had one on him when Rose and I fed from him," I state openly, smiling to myself when I notice his mouth fall open from my periphery.

"You..._fed on_ him?" he asks, and the silly boy appears to be in disbelief.

"Are you hard of hearing?"

"I—"

"God—shut up!"

"Mr. Masen?" The teacher calls him to attention.

"Sorry..." he mumbles, only to continue bothering me not thirty seconds later. "Bella—"

"Are you serious?"

"Can we talk later?"

"Later," I mutter, dropping my forehead to my outstretched hand. I can't continue on like this; I have to put the fear of god back into him. And soon.

**. . .**

"Get out. I'm driving," I state after opening Edward's car door and dragging him from his seat.

"Will you stop roughing me up?" he demands, pulling himself to his full height before me; he towers over me, and if he thinks it makes him somehow threatening, he's delusional.

"Just get in the car." I shove him forward. "You want to be friends, right?" I add when he stubbornly holds his ground.

With a barely concealed huff he concedes, throwing himself into the passenger side and slamming the door after him.

"Where are you taking me?" he asks begrudgingly after I slide his seat forward and turn over the engine.

"My house." Yanking the gear into reverse, I pull out.

"Why?"

"You'll find out when we get there. Better put your seatbelt on." I smirk, shifting into first.

"You broke it, remember?—Jesus, slow down!"

His little Swedish made car actually gets good mileage. I get up to 120 miles per hour in under a minute before really pushing it to its limit. I zoom in and out of traffic sharply, go up onto the sidewalk, and dodge and overtake cars and trucks on the interstate; traveling for the most part on the opposite side of the road. I mean to scare the life out of my red canary, and I do. He turns rigid, his fists clutching desperately at the two broken halves of his passenger seatbelt as he's thrown about with the movement of his car, while he braces his feet on the dash.

By the time I pull to a stop at the entrance of the property, several hundred yards from the house, he's sheet white and stunned into silence.

"You're crazy," he utters in a dazed whisper before pulling open the door and falling to the graveled driveway.

"Did I go too fast?" I taunt him, leaning over the seat to catch his gaze.

He flashes me a sarcastic smile and pulls himself shakily to his feet. "Where are we?"

"My house."

"Where...it is?" he asks warily, glancing around him.

"Follow me." I set out walking, allowing him to fall into step with me. "Did you tell Alice you can read minds?" I ask after a moment of silence.

"No."

"My mother? Rose?"

"No. I mean, not that I can remember. Why?"

"I want you to read Alice's mind."

"I told you, I can't read minds. I just get _images_."

"Of us at the prom," I say cynically, because it's still inconceivable to me.

"Yeah."

"Doing what?"

"Dancing."

I snort obnoxiously. "Unlikely."

"It's not 'til the end of the semester, you know," he says as if I'm not already aware of it.

"You don't say," I reply in deliberately monotone.

"We might be friends then," he expands on it, and I snort again.

"I wouldn't count on it. What's wrong with you, anyway?"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head and gazes down at me.

"I'm taking you into a den of vampires and you appear cheerful about it."

He shrugs. "Your folks are...nice." Is his explanation.

"All the better to eat you with, my dear," I quote, and he chuckles. He _actually _laughs.

"Your mother promised no harm would come to me. So did you father, for that matter."

"And you believed the word of predators over your own instincts?" I peer up at him convinced he's removed from his faculties.

"If I saw anything in their minds to be on guard I would be, but I didn't. Are you going to give my hoodie back?"

"Nope."

"Why?"

"Stop talking."

He does, but his completely carefree stance is irritating. More so the fact that he _still _doesn't fear me. There's only one way to rectify it.

"You said you don't mind me feeding from you, is that right?" I ask him, rounding a corner as the house comes into view.

He immediately slows his step and gauges me for a moment. "Why?"

"Give me your hand."

He completely stops in his tracks this time, his mouth falling open as his expression floods with obvious uncertainty. "But I..."

"You want to be friends with a vampire, don't you?" I mock him.

He pales, his hand running to the back of his head as his eyes dart around him as if looking for an escape route. "You just fed from me..." he states quietly.

"I fed from you a week ago. Give me your hand!"

"ISABELLA SWAN, DON'T YOU DARE!" Mommy Dearest suddenly shouts, and with relief slumping in his shoulders, Edward glances toward her.

She's standing on the front porch, her arms folded tersely across her chest, her expression murderous and very clearly final.

"Oh, I was joking," I say, waving a dismissive hand and making my way toward the house again.

Edward trails behind me, offering Esme a polite, "Hey, Mrs. Cullen," as we pass her.

"How are you, sweetheart?" she enquires after him, a warm smile completely reversing her demeanor.

"Good, thank you. How are you?" He's been raised well; I'll give him that.

"I'm fine. I trust that Bella's been a good friend."

"Erm, yes," he blatantly lies as Mommy Dearest immediately turns to glare at me.

"He's alive, isn't he?" I retort as Esme _tsks_ and shake her head minimally to herself.

"Would you like a drink, Edward?" she offers after walking beside him into the living room.

"Um...sure. Thank you."

I roll my eyes. "You don't need to feed him. He's not a stray kitten."

"_Bella_," she warns me, her eyes narrowing, her lips pursing, and then flashing Edward another one of her completely over-the-top accommodating smiles, she disappears into the kitchen ahead of us.

"She treats you like a kid," Edward leans down and says in confidence, and he's obviously amused by the fact she does.

"They think anyone who feeds from humans is somehow evidence of a lack of maturity." I snort.

"And the way they behave!" Esme adds from several rooms away, causing Edward to smirk to himself.

"Careful, pretty boy," I caution him, and to my absolute ire his smile only broadens. "It only takes a second to snap your neck."

"But I taste too good," he uses my own words against me, and just as I'm contemplating murdering him, Alice skips into the room.

"Hey," she greets Edward, the smile on her face overly animated. "We haven't formally met. I'm Alice."

"I remember," he replies, extending his hand. "Edward."

"Masen the third," she adds, taking it, and her smile is more crafty than usual.

"Yes," my red canary replies, and I watch him closely, studying his expression for any clues.

There appears none.

"This is Jasper," Alice introduces her mate who remains safely behind her.

"Hello," Jasper says stiffly.

"Hey," Edward replies, and this is when his forehead knots and he appears to study Jasper a little more closely.

"He's only _semi_-mature," I explain to Edward, who nods to himself still clearly lost in his obviously drifting thoughts.

"Bella..." Alice complains, her eyes glued to Edward, and I know the little fiend is attempting to gauge his future.

That's when I grab his arm and pull him back, surprising him so much he almost trips over his feet.

"Come to my room," I state flatly.

"O-okay, sure," he stammers before throwing Alice and Jasper an awkward smile and complying.

"You like to read," he notes upon seeing the two bookcases full of paper and hardbacks in my room.

"What gave it away?" I say dryly, and he grins as if he means to laugh.

"You sleep on a sofa?" he asks after a moment of glancing around, his eyes setting, on my leather chaise below the full length window.

"I don't sleep anywhere."

"...You don't?"

"Nope," I say simply.

"Is that just you?"

"All of us."

"Don't...you get tired?"

I scrutinize him closer, when I suddenly realize he's not nearly as at ease at he wants me to appear. He's actually quite flustered. I smile, satisfied. "Obviously not."

He nods, and blushes slightly. "That's actually pretty cool," he mumbles, and I don't think he meant me to hear.

"Cool...?" I echo dryly.

He turns his head and meets my eyes squarely. "Yeah, I mean, imagine what you could get done."

"It can get pretty boring," I reply, and as he continues to observe my room, I realize I'm not nearly as comfortable with him in here as I thought I'd be. "Come for a walk."

"Why...?" He's apprehensive.

"Just come on." I grab his hand and promptly yank him from my room and back down the stairs.

"Where are you going?" Esme asks suspiciously, heading me off in the foyer, lemonade in hand.

"For a walk."

"Bella..." She's unconvinced by my intentions.

"Now, Mother, you're scaring my little friend."

She huffs. "I'll be watching."

"What a relief."

"You are such a wise ass," Edward states as I lead him back down the drive to his waiting car.

"You said it yourself, they treat me like a child," I mutter.

"How old are you exactly?"

"You don't need to know that."

"I was born in '01."

"_Riveting_," I snap, hastening my footsteps and forcing him to keep up with me.

"Before the war?" he continues pestering me regardless.

"What war would that be?"

"World War One."

"After."

"Ahh..." He rubs his chin, attempting to mull it over. "So, I googled _Sonny Jim_."

"_And_?"

"Were you turned in the 60s?" he ventures.

"Nope, and stop digging. It's annoying me."

When we reach his car, I turn to him. He stops before me, his hands deep in his pockets, and a smile remaining on his lips. It's aggravating because it only makes him even more handsome. I have absolutely no tolerance for it. "What did you see?"

"From Alice?"

"Naturally."

"Elk and...erm...oral sex with the blond guy." He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Good lord." I sigh. "You didn't see anything about the future?"

"No. I mean...I don't think so."

I huff brashly, because what a waste of time. "And Jasper?"

"He thinks about humans. _A lot_." His voice drops to a concerning murmur. "He wants to feed from them."

"He does."

"He scares me more than you," he admits in a mumble, his eyes severing from mine.

"I scare you?" I'm finally pleased to hear it.

"Of course you do," he immediately replies, his gaze shifting back to mine. "You could kick my ass."

"I could do more than that," I add, rolling my eyes, because what a _teenage male_ thing to say.

"_I know_," he replies kind of ironically. "So, what are we doing now?"

"_We _are not doing anything. _You're_ leaving."

"Already?" His expression falls in obvious disappointment.

"Already." I remain unmoved.

"Why don't you come to my house?" he offers as my eyes immediately widen.

"And why would I do that?"

He shrugs a shoulder. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"You think so?" I snort at his naivety. "Ask Miss Promiscuity. I'm sure she'd oblige you."

He scoffs out a strange kind of laugh. Though, why I have no idea. "We went out last year, and now we have this...arrangement."

"You're obviously confusing me with someone who's interested." I turn my back on him to take my leave.

"Wait—Bella!" he blurts out hastily, and releasing an exasperated breath, I glance at him over my shoulder.

"What?"

"Can I text you?"

"You do anyway."

He breaks into a smile, and I'm certain he's trying to lure with me his good looks. Poor, deluded schmuck. "Will you reply?"

"No."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading.**


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks to Kimmie45 and StarryEyedWriter8. I'm slightly too hungover for anything else. Hope you enjoy. **

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 7**

Another week passes, and my eyes are starting to darken. I'm contemplating feeding from my red canary, but I'm hesitating even as I weigh up the pros and cons. On the one hand, he needs to be reminded of exactly what I am, and what he's getting himself into with this _friendship_ he seems to think we share, but on the other hand, he still smells rather vanilla, and I can't imagine he'll taste much better. And then there's the wrath of Mommy Dearest I'll have to weather if she finds out.

What I'm hesitating over, I'm not quite sure. Or maybe I'm not ready to admit to it. Either way, I'm beginning to suspect it's because I don't want to frighten him. Or hurt him.

I can only speculate how I went from wanting to kill him to _this_—whatever the hell it is now.

On Wednesday at lunch, he came and sat with me, Rose and Emmett at our table of his own volition. He hasn't left, and the following Monday I realize it's become routine. What makes it infinitely worse, is Emmett likes him. They discuss sports and god knows what, bonding over their perceived mutual youth. Edward likes hockey and baseball. Both he plays; one extracurricular and the other for the school's team.

_"_First base," he answers after Emmett asks about his position. "Sometimes left field," he adds, turning to me as if he feels the need to include me. Or, for all I know, impress me.

"_Awesome_," I say without a shred of sincerity, but if he notices he doesn't make it known.

"We're a catcher down since our last graduated. You should try out," he puts innocently to Emmett, while I snort loudly and pointedly.

"What?" he asks, turning back to me with his brow furrowed.

"_Try out_?" I echo, arching mine in emphasis.

"Well, he'd have to make it look convincing."

"Nah, it'd be like playing little league. No competition," is Emmett's answer, but it's obvious he was seriously contemplating it. The real reason he can't play is, with Emmett's ego, he'd be the best the school has ever turned out and then be consequently scouted. And the one rule every vampire must obey is to stay under the radar.

"_Sure_?" He's disappointed, and that's when I realize Rose likes him too. I catch her smiling at him as if she's enjoying his company, and Rose doesn't like anyone. But then, usually if Emmett's sold, Rose is by a matter of default.

"Positive," Emmett replies, "but I bet Bella will come and watch your next game."

"You'd bet wrong," I speak up stiffly before Edward can open his mouth.

Emmett laughs jovially and nudges me in the process. I jerk to the side, and this not only surprises Edward but it appears to shock the hell out of him.

"What? You're surprised that he's stronger than I am?" I ask less than impressed by the length of his expression.

"I thought it'd be kind of...equal."

Emmett laughs again, because, vampire or not, he's still overrunning with ego. "I'm the strongest around." He winks, and Edward apparently finds this amusing.

I don't.

"As of tomorrow, you're back at your table," I tell him, with an edge of finality in my tone.

"Let him stay," Emmett immediately intervenes, and I'm fuming.

"You really don't want me to sit here?" Edward asks me, his gaze uncertain and bordering on insecure. It's pitiful.

"Do I look like I'm enjoying your testosterone-fueled conversation?"

"Bella..." Emmett decides to be some kind of voice of reason. "Come on."

"She can get pretty touchy," Rose speaks up in explanation, and I'm fairly certain it's the first time she's ever addressed Edward in any sense.

"_Touchy_?" I repeat in offense. "He's lucky he's alive."

"You're just hungry," Emmett outs me, and he's right. I am, and like most humans, hunger makes me irritable.

"That's right, and have you forgotten what his blood does to me?!" I fire back.

"He smells bland—even to me," Rose adds, wrinkling her nose.

"It's steadily returning," I insist. It isn't to the extent I make out, but I'm in a bad mood and I'm not about to curb it for any reason.

"Erm, I'm right here," Edward mumbles awkwardly.

"_That's_ the entire point!" I snap, turning back to him.

"Okay, I'll go," he mumbles, pulling himself to his feet.

"Just stay." Emmett places a palm to his shoulder and sits him back down. "She's being her usual unreasonable self."

"I'm leaving," I decide, and I'm out of my chair in an instant, stalking across the room to the one exit. That's when I move into Lauren Mallory's line of sight. She openly sneers at me before turning back to Acne Perm to insult me not nearly as under her breath as she presumes.

Rumor has it that Edward and I are an item, and that Lauren wants to "get me" after school. I'd really like to oblige her on that one—if I can get her on her own, that is. I've been contemplating ways to kill her the last week, and she's currently topping Acne Perm and Fake ID combined on my list of most detestable teenagers.

**. . .**

I have forbidden Edward from talking to me during Bio; he asks the most inappropriate questions. Granted, I don't expect anyone who overhears him to take him seriously, but as a species we've learned to err on the side of caution as a matter of survival.

He usually saves it for the ride home. It's another of our newly formed customs; he drives me home. Being enclosed in his car with him as his scent gradually returns is the best way to desensitize myself to him, but he uses the opportunity as a free for all. I'm quickly realizing his fascination by us is turning into a dangerous obsession, and I'm not naïve to think the Volturi aren't checking up on me. If he knows too much, his life isn't only in danger from me. It begs the question though; why are Rose and Em—my entire family, in fact—encouraging his presence in my life?

"How often do you need to feed?" he asks at the end of another long string of tedious questions. Questions I have been obliging him on.

"At the bare minimum, once a fortnight."

"But how often..." he leaves it unspoken but I understand his meaning.

"Twice a week."

"Your eyes are...dark brown now. Is that what happens?"

"When they turn black I will feed uncontrollably. You still want to sit with us at lunch?" I turn to face him, eyebrows raised. I've allowed him to drive today. I blew his gearbox after three days and I now owe Rose a liter of B-negative for fixing it.

He pauses, his eyes trained on me as if he's gauging me for any contradictions. Or attempting to penetrate my shield. "Do...you want to feed on me?"

"Of course, I do." He's at least thirty percent back to smelling as luscious, and the burning in my throat at being in such close quarters with him is slowly returning.

"You can drink from me any time," he offers, and this isn't the first time. The boy obviously has a chronic case of masochism.

"How generous of you." I laugh once, dryly.

"I'm serious."

"Why?" I turn to stare squarely at him.

He pulls to a stop by the entrance of my driveway and bows his head. His hand slides to the nape of his neck and runs forward through his hair. He does that a lot, I note; pulling his long fingers through his hair almost as if it's a subconscious act. It almost adds a depth to him.

"I'm not sure..." he mumbles out the answer to the question I almost forgot I asked.

"Is it my face that draws you to me?" I ask after studying him for a few short seconds.

"I don't know what it is," he answers, looking up to meet my gaze.

"I've never been nice to you, or encouraged you to be _friends_, so what else could it be? Hm?"

"I told you, _I don't know_," he replies, thudding his hand to the steering wheel in obvious frustration.

"Do you want to be one of us?" I ask the obvious question.

"I'm not sure..." he murmurs, squeezing both his fists around the wheel this time.

"You're _not sure_?" I put to him, incredulous. "Would you like to see the brutal truth of what we are first hand? Is that it?"

"I...no," he concedes in a quiet voice, breaking eye contact again.

"You think the way my family lives is natural?" My voice rises, and before he can answer, I continue, "It goes against their very nature. It's something they have to _fight_ every day of their existence, and that longing for human blood? It will never stop—it will _never_ go away."

"Bella..." he beseeches me, but whatever it is, I don't want to hear it.

"Are you aware of how many people I've killed?"

"No." His eyes widen, but not with fear; with something I can't quite decipher.

"Too many to count, and almost all boys your age. I've killed them without regret. All of them. Do you still think I'm beautiful and romantic now?"

He shakes his head, and he's beginning to appear confused. "I just...you want to drink my blood, so I'm just not sure why you're not."

"Because I have no way of knowing whether I'll be in control enough to stop yet. Do you want me to kill you!?" I all but shout, making him immediately cringe away from me.

"No. Is that why you're riding home with me? To build control?"

"Of course, it is. Why else did you think, you idiot boy?" I burst, incensed by his ridiculous human sentiment.

He balks and I'm fairly certain I've hurt his feelings. It's a revelation that I do not like, nor do I have any patience for.

"Then why not kill me?!" he hollers back, his face flashing beet red. "If that's all, then kill me! Or is all this a part of your game?! _Is__ it_?!"

Normally, I would not allow any human who spoke to me like this live another second, but another revelation dawns on me; one that makes me laugh out loud without a shred of humor attached to it. "Good God, you're in love with me."

His expression smooths out in alarm, and he shakes his head immediately in contradiction. "No, I'm not!" He's adamant, but entirely unconvincing.

"Explain it to me then. Why you're so eager for me to feed from you?"

"Explain why you don't want to risk my life?" he fires immediately back.

"Because you're my one in a million," I rage, leaning toward him so sharply he immediately lunges back. "A vampire can live a thousand years without finding their singer. I am not about to waste you on a one-time snack."

He just stares at me for the longest time, and I watch as his face completely falls. He's crestfallen, I realize. "Is that really all?" His rich voice almost breaks, and it's beginning to drive me insane. Humans are so annoyingly sentimental. It's the one part of my mortal coil I was all too happy to give up.

"That's really all," I echo without emotion, "and the sooner you realize that and give up this infatuation—or whatever it is you're developing for me—the happier we'll both be."

"I don't believe you," he says stubbornly, straightening his back and inflating his chest in direct challenge. "Not what I saw in Alice's mind."

"Would you like me to tell you how many times Alice has been wrong?" I say calmly. I'm not going to take the bait, this time. Not again.

He shakes his head, but it's obvious it's not in answer; he's remaining defiant.

"Would you like to see me hunt?" I offer, keeping my composure intact.

He's nodding his head before he can get that one word out. "Yes," he whispers.

"Alright," I say simply. "Get out. I'm driving."

**. . .**

I take him to Port Angeles. We don't have time enough to go to Seattle, not without raising the warden's suspicions anyway, but to play it safe, I cloak him in my shield before we set out.

It's just past 4:30 when we arrive, and parking his car a few blocks from the waterfront alongside a stretch of brick-faced stores, we get out and I start scouting the best place to take him. A back alley off a seedy bar is usually the surest bet, but it's too early in the afternoon. I realize I'm going to have to lure my meal rather than ambush them. Leaving Edward—and his hoodie—behind in the seclusion of a small wooded area south west of the logging yard, I set out to find two victims.

They come by very easily; two bearded twenty-something males who reek of beer and cigarettes, and who leer at me for several seconds too long. They're the perfect type, because I know I can be absolutely brutal with them without any kind of conscience.

I lure them with my usual spiel of a lost damsel in distress complete with thinly veiled promises and innuendo. They're only too willing to follow me into the woods. Their fingers over me with a confidence that usually comes with callous disregard. I'm quite certain they would kill me first if I don't give them what they expect, or perhaps regardless. I have to fight to keep my expression neutral and not slaughter them on the spot for daring to touch me. I keep my eyes ahead of me, detaching myself from the feel of their large hands around me, and the scent of their body odor, while they remain none the wiser to their looming deaths. That is, until the moment they lay eyes on Edward waiting within the shadows of the grove of trees I've led them into.

They're immediately suspicious.

"What's this all about—who's he?" the larger one—who's at least a foot taller than I am—demands, turning to me and roughly grabbing my elbow.

"Hey, get your hands off—" Edward demands, only for the words to die on his lips as he watches what quickly unfolds.

Gripping the half-inebriated male's arm, I tear his fingers from me. In doing so, I break his forearm, and with a sharp snapping-sound, as if it was nothing but a twig underfoot, his severed radius bone slices through his skin. He reacts violently, his mouth falling open to scream out the agony he's suddenly in, as he impulsively jerks away from me. But before sound can pass through his lips, and with movements I realize will be too rapid for the other two humans around me to witness, I pull myself on his back, plant my palms to each side of his head, and whip it to the side snapping his cervical vertebrae. He immediately flails inertly, and dropping soundless before me, I shove his dead body away from me with my foot.

With the first down, I turn my attention to the second.

My actions have rendered him stunned and seemingly frozen to the spot. Pulling himself suddenly out of it, he makes a run for it. In a single moment, I catch him grabbing him by the throat immediately cutting off his airways and stifling any cries he might make for help. I pull him to me to feed from him. Closing my mouth to the side of his neck, and with my fangs released, I sink them deep into his bulging jugular vein.

He struggles for only seconds before he succumbs, but during that time I make it known how defenseless he is, how easily I'm able to overpower him, and how his efforts to escape are utterly in vain.

I bleed him dry, continuing to drain him even after his heart stops. When I'm done, I heal the puncture wounds my canines have left, before breaking his neck in the same manner I did his companion.

It's finished, I'm fed, and as my body immediately begins to metabolize the blood, I turn to Edward. He's standing only feet from me, and I allow him to witness my eyes as they revert to a deep burgundy red and my fangs as they slowly recede back.

Just as I expected him to be, he only stares back in a state of shock. His eyes are wide and completely stricken as his complexion rapidly pales. This is when he hunches over and promptly vomits all over his shoes, and then again before staggering backwards and falling to his knees.

With complete calm I walk over to him, stopping just before him. His head's bowed, that unusual colored hair of his falling over his forehead as his lungs heave back his obvious terror. This is when something akin to pity envelops me, and I realize I detest the fact that I have scared him to this extent.

I shake my head; from my own emotions or his I'm not entirely certain. "This is what I am, Edward, so whatever fantasies you've constructed about me you need to let them go."

He nods, or he attempts to anyway, as he struggles to pull himself back together.

"I have to take care of the bodies. I'll be back in a moment," I inform him in a quiet voice, before turning my back on him.

Keeping to the shadows of the small wooded strip that leads to the logging yard's lagoon, I dispose of both the corpses in the bed of water; my movements again too fast for any possible witnesses. I am gone only minutes, and when I return, Edward hasn't moved. He's slumped slightly forward on his hands and knees, his fists imbedded into the damp turf beneath him while his entire body tremors uncontrollably.

"Ready to go?" I ask, startling him.

He nods again, but it's evident he's going nowhere. I sigh heavily and move to stand closer to him when he practically seizes away from me. It's almost instinctual, as if it wasn't a conscious effort on his part at all, and he's just as surprised as I am. "I-I'm sorry," he blurts, his voice hopelessly shaken.

"Why?" I ask, observing him closely.

He shakes his head in a jittery motion. "I don't know..."

I sigh, because as much as it grieves me to see him like this, it's making me as equally impatient. "Can you walk?"

"Sure," he says, looking up to meet my eyes, and that's when I notice his are as flat as his voice.

He pulls himself unsteadily to his feet, while I almost have to fight from extending a subconscious hand to help him. He won't react well to contact from me right now, and I really don't want to traumatize him further.

I give him a few more moments, to be sure he's not going to vomit again, or faint, before I set off for the street only a few hundred yards beyond. It's the upside to living in this part of the country. The residential areas of the most populated towns are sectioned off by miles of dark, mostly secluded, wooded areas. It's the perfect hunting ground for vampires when they stray from the cover of darkness.

We emerge from the shadows of the grove, one behind the other as if we were recently intimate and were attempting to remain inconspicuous. While Edward doesn't speak a word, I remain conscious of his presence behind me. When we pass through the busier parts of town, he walks beside me, his head lowered or straight ahead, but his silence is deafening. And while he's not articulating it, I know a storm is raging behind the shocked hue of his green eyes. It's knotting slightly at his brow, and causing his breath to falter, and I realize the depth of the trauma he's presently in. It's a lot more than I was anticipating.

When we reach his parked car, I slide myself behind the wheel, and without objecting, he pushes himself clumsily into the front passenger seat. I glance at him seriously for a moment; his expression is blank. With an inward sigh, I start the engine and pull out.

I arrive back in Forks in half the time it would normally take. Edward doesn't react to the speed we travel. He's barely responsive at all, in fact, and he doesn't utter a sound; not until I pull up in front of the white Georgian mansion of his parents.

"I...I didn't know you were going to kill them..." he mumbles, his eyes still staring vacantly ahead.

I study him, unsure what I'm supposed to do with him. I was expecting some kind of reaction, but it still gives me no comfort.

"We were at my house, okay?" I inform him, shaking anything else from my thoughts.

He nods his head numbly, and without another word, he opens the car door and pulls himself out.

I watch as he heads toward the front porch, his shoulders slumped, his head bowed in absolute defeat, and something else I don't quite want to rationalize.

Leaving the keys dangling in the ignition, I exit his car and immediately head home.

* * *

**A/N: in case it's not otherwise apparent, this fic is going to be a slow burn. It's going to take a lot to...domesticate Bella. Is that the right word?  
Anywho, thank you for reading :)**


	9. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank you to my beta Kimmie45. I didn't forget to over right this time. I often do. Something Kim is always face-palming over. Thanks also to StarryEyedWriter8 and Leigh Warner for prereading. Both are authors in the fandom. You should check out their fics :)  
****Anywho, hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 8**

"Where have you been?" Mommy Dearest ambushes me the instant I come through the front door, her expression more suspicious than usual when it comes to me.

"We went for a drive," I dismiss, attempting to move past her when she grabs my arm.

"Your eyes—you've fed. Did you feed off that poor boy?!" she loudly accuses, but the woman is nothing if not grounded in reality when it comes to me.

"Of course, I didn't," I blurt affronted; I should be. "And if I did, so what?"

"Bella, you don't need me to remind you why the situation with Edward is precarious right now," she attempts to reason with me, as if I were completely ignorant of the fact.

"I've done nothing wrong, so leave me alone!" I snap, losing patience and jerking myself from her grip. "I'll be in my room, and I want my damn laptop back!"

"Not going to happen!" she declares sternly from behind me.

I ignore her, and enclose myself in my room pacing back and forth for several moments. I feel unsettled and restless. I don't like it, and I'm not even remotely in the right frame of mind to start delving into the whys and wherefores. My subconscious is not as discreet however, and I realize I'm already regretting my actions this afternoon.

The truth is, I'm not even sure why I took him. Why I wanted him to witness that side of me first hand. What's worse is, I really want to take it back, to reclaim that innocence for him that he believed about me. There's no going back, though, and I fully understand now that the awkward peace I harbored with my red canary has been shattered.

Still, I can't stand it; what he saw, how I left him, or my own willful desire for self-destruction. I'm beginning to feel as if it's tearing me apart, and for the first time in my existence, the knowledge of what I've done, of what I am, is unbearable.

That's when I realize what's missing. His aroma; his sweater. I took it off before my hunt, worried his scent would become contaminated, and it's either still in his car, or he has it on him. I have to get it back. I _need_ it back. His scent is the only thing keeping me grounded at the moment, as ironic as that even is.

Knowing I need to wait for the cover of darkness, I wile away the last few hours until sunset with Emily Bronte. While my racing mind is miles from Heathcliff, miles from Catherine, and firmly fixed on a certain copper-haired teenager. I can't even begin to fathom why, so I don't bother trying, but the minutes are ticking over agonizingly slowly and my thoughts keep straying to him.

I smiled at him during Biology today; he noticed and that askew smile of his quickly followed suit. He has a smile his parents have obviously spent thousands of dollars on. Pearly white and straight but with imperfections that are unique to him. They're not quite symmetrical, and his left upper lateral incisor is turned slightly away from the canine beside it, but he has a smile that almost reminds me of my brother, Jacob. It's infectious, and his entire face lights up with it, crinkling his eyes at the edges.

Even still, for the next several seconds, I stared at him wondering what the hell he was finding so amusing until I realized he was reacting to me. I tore my eyes from his and fixed them to the back of the teacher's balding head with my heart in a rampage. I rationalized it away from fluster over being caught doing something so tediously human, but I'm no more convinced now than I was then.

I was smiling at his clumsy left-handedness. How he smudged what he'd already written with the heel of his palm, and the frustration he obvious felt because of it. His long fingers were working against him, and for some oddity I found it endearing.

Perhaps that's why I wanted to shatter the illusion he so obviously believed about me, because I realized I was beginning to soften around him. I_ am_ beginning to soften around him. I have no idea what I'm going to do about it, or if there is anything I _can_ do. All I know for certain is, Edward Anthony Masen the third will not die by my hand. In fact, if he dies by any other hand other than Father Time's, there will be bloodshed.

My initial plan was to leave around ten, but at nine I find myself in the deepest cavern of the warden's ire.

"You allowed him to watch you feed?!" she seethes, her voice rising in both anger and disbelief after charging unannounced into my room.

For a brief second or two, my mouth falls open wondering how the hell she found out, when the culpable gold eyes of the obvious answer meet mine from over her shoulder.

"ALICE!" I explode, preparing to lunge at her.

She backs away. "I didn't meant to," is her paltry explanation. Realizing the danger she's in, she turns and takes flight.

Dodging Mommy Dearest, I'm immediately on her tail, but I don't count on her damn mate to intervene. He grabs me by my midsection, and, in the next instant, I find myself flat on my back with him over me.

"Let it go!" he demands, referring to my shield. He's struggling to keep me contained, but I feed on humans, he feeds on animals; I'm stronger.

"No chance!" I growl, kicking him off me. Springing back to my feet, I turn to chase down my rat sister when Emmett gets his arms around me. It's all over. Animal blood or not, Emmett is twice my strength. "Damn it!"

"Calm down, Bella," he says, clearly amused by me.

"Let me go," I complain, fighting futilely against him.

He does, only to hand me over to the warden who grabs my ear and drags me back into my bedroom.

"Ow, ow, owwww!"

"What were you thinking, Bella?!" she demands, arms folded across her chest, her lips thinning behind her glare. "Do you realize the danger you have put him in?"

"I've decided I'm keeping him as my pet, so back off!"

"You most certainly will not," she counters without hesitation. "There will be _no _pets in this house _ever_!"

"Then I'll _leave _this house," I threaten, but we all know it's empty at best. Aro put strict restrictions on me after the bloodbath that was my junior year three decades ago. If I go rogue, I'll be forced back to Volterra. Which means I'll be constantly on the run from Demetri, and I have no intentions of living like that.

"Just stop it, Bella!" she snaps impatiently. "I'm ashamed to call you my daughter. You have traumatized that boy beyond comprehension."

"He wanted to see me feed," I inform her knowing it's no justification.

"There are laws!"

"Laws..." I scoff. "I had to do something—he's in love with me!"

"So you killed in his presence? Explain to me how that makes any sense?"

"He had misconceptions about me. I had to rectify them."

She shakes her head, her brows heavily creased in irritation. "Do you have any regard for him? Or is he nothing but your play thing?"

"Play thing," I reply. I hesitate, it's only for a second, but it's all it takes to completely contradict me.

"I don't believe you," she replies, pursing her lips, her gaze as severe as it is overrunning with her usual disappointment. "Unless you want to be shipped to Italy on the first plane out tonight, you will start making some drastic changes in your life, young lady. Starting with that poor boy!"

"What do you propose I do? _Ask__ him to prom_?" I put to her sarcastically, folding my arms in mirror to hers.

"That's entirely up to you, and clean up the mess you made. _Now_," she demands, her head jerking to the right of her to the array of shattered glass and splintered wood of what was once her coffee table.

"That was all _Jasper_!" I retort, and turning my back on her I leap out my window to the spruce tree twenty feet beyond.

"This is your last warning!" I hear the warden's irate voice behind me as I advance further into the woods toward where my red canary dwells.

I arrive in less than a minute, slowing to a walk the moment I catch his amplifying scent on the breeze. When usually my mouth would immediately water behind my emerging fangs, tonight my chest aches and my heart stutters. His scent now portrays his humanity; a human recoiling from what I am. Something that's never bothered me before now. The truth is, I don't want him to recoil from me.

His car's still unlocked, his keys dangling in the ignition, but there is no sign of his sweater. I turn my attention toward the house, and the medium from inside is somber. I cannot detect Edward's voice, but his parents are worried. It's in the timbre of their murmurings; their concern is steeped in every syllable.

I draw closer, staying in the shadows of the surrounding birch trees as I keep my focus on the two voices within. They're considering taking him back to the hospital, or at the very least calling Carlisle. Apparently, he gave them his number after Edward's _concussion_, and they're worried he's having some kind of relapse.

It's enough for my attention to immediately snap toward the east-facing window where his scent is concentrated. It's dark with zero light illuminating from behind it, and there is almost something foreboding about it—which is ridiculous.

In the next instant, I'm gripping the sill, several feet from the ground, relieved to discover that while the window's closed it isn't locked. I inch it up, and it slides smoothly and with very little noise. On the far side of the room, in the darkest corner, my red canary lies sleeping in a double bed. The covers are pulled to his waist and he's bare-chested.

I approach him slowly, my movements almost cautious. He's overly warm, and if I couldn't feel the heat emanating from him, the light sheen of sweat covering his face, neck and shoulders solidifies it. Along with his feverish mind, his dreams are disturbed, his sleep fitful; his trauma still blatant. He's twitching, his head rolling back and forth against his pillow sporadically just as a semi-conscious moan leaves him.

"Bella..." he utters, his voice barely audible, and at the sound of my own name spilling fractured from his lips, I pull up short.

For a moment, I'm afraid he's woken up and caught me red-handed, but he hasn't. I'm as deep in his nightmare as he is. I'm the cause of it, in fact, and I detest it.

"It's okay," I whisper, placing my palm hesitantly to his clammy forehead.

He almost immediately reaches up and grabs it. I could see it happening but I made no attempt to avoid it. His unconsciousness still lingers, he's still deep in the horrors I inflicted on him, and I desperately want to put him at ease; to rectify it, if that's even possible.

"You're safe now, Edward," I lean down and speak practically without volume into his ear. "You won't ever have to worry about me again."

He releases his breath into another long, languid moan. He still smells like vomit, and, while it sickens me, I'm more repulsed by the cause of it. The living dead thing hovering over him, salivating over his soul.

I leave in an instant, pausing briefly to retrieve his hoodie hanging limply over the back of his computer chair. I don't return home, though. Instead, I stray east and as far into the Olympic National Park as I have ever ventured. I take down an elk, a black bear and finally a cougar, but my efforts to change the hue of my eyes are in vain. Human blood is too potent; it will take at least a month of going vegan to change them, and by then I will be as far from Edward Masen the third as humanly possible.

**. . .**

Esme greets me home with a warm hug and an even warmer smile. She can smell the animal blood in my system, but, within a mile out, I released my shield allowing Alice into my psyche.

"I'm proud of you," my mother says, placing a hand to my cheek. "_So_ proud of you."

"I'm leaving," I answer her without emotion, and her expression immediately falls.

"Why?" she asks, but I'm shaking my head before she could get that one word out.

"He's...doing something to me. I have to leave."

"Would you like to take some time to think it over? Perhaps you can visit Tanya?"

I shake my head a second time, my eyes falling to the floor. "No."

"Bella, _please_," she pleads with me as her breath gushes from her in disappointment, but it goes further. I'm just not in the mood to analyze it. "You're doing so well."

"Just...leave me alone," I mumble, walking past her toward the stairs.

"I'm sorry, Bella," Alice apologizes to me on the landing. She sounds genuinely remorseful even as her entire frame tenses in caution. "I wasn't listening in on him. It just...came..."

"It's fine," I dismiss her and move to walk past her.

"You're not really leaving are you?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Bella..."

I look up and meet her astute eyes squarely. "What have you seen? You might as well tell me."

She shakes her head slightly, but answers regardless. "I mostly see him, but since you block me, I'm not sure in what context."

"Did you see me and him at the prom?" I ask as her expression instantly smooths out in shock.

"_How_...?" Her voice almost fails. "I haven't told anyone that."

"He can read minds," I admit quietly. "He saw...when he was here."

"Oh my..."

"But you saw me as well."

"You let your shield down the first day he was at school. I saw..._a lot_," she admits, biting her lower lip, her eyes darting away from mine nervously.

I nod mechanically, devoid of emotion. "So, what's your theory? You think he's my mate?"

"I...think so. Yes."

"He isn't," I counter immediately, my tone stiffening indignantly. "I lust after his blood—that is _all_."

"Bella..." she begins and there is sympathy in her voice.

"What?"

"If you let your shield down, I can attempt to see..."

I shake my head again, aggressively this time, as my hands ball tightly into fists. "_No_!" I burst. "Just answer me one thing?"

"What?" she asks, shying slightly away from me.

"Have you seen him as one of us?"

She opens her mouth only to close it again in silence. Her hesitancy is answer enough, though, and she knows it. "Sorry," she murmurs, lowering her head.

"That's why I'm leaving."

"Bella!" she appeals to me, her eyes snapping back to mine. "Please. Stay..." Her despair is sincere, but it makes no difference.

"I've made up my mind."

**. . .**

Jane meets me in the cobble-stone square, sitting on the edge of the fountain, and the canny smirk on her lips alludes to more than just her pleasure at seeing me.

"I could smell you a mile away," she says, referring to the animal blood now circulating through my veins as she takes me briefly into her arms. "This was one bet I was certain I'd win."

"What bet?" I pull back and ask suspiciously.

"Aro bet me that Carlisle would wear you down eventually, but I was certain there'd be no taming Bella. God, you smell awful." Her smile amalgamates with a grimace, making me almost laugh.

"It won't be for long." I wave a hand dismissively. "Can we get out of here?" Away from the three relics and the rest of their guard.

"God, yes. I'm starving."

**. . .**

"You have three choices. Turn him, keep him as a pet, or kill him," Jane responds to my inadvertent ramblings, but she's so easy to confide in that I revealed my soul to her before I could catch myself.

It's twilight, and we're in a bar in Montaione in the hillsides of central Tuscany. Our two grossly inebriated companions are passed out at the mosaic table beside us, but still very much alive.

I'm suitably buzzed, but, by comparison to how I prefer, it's mild. It's one of Aro's rules; a drunk vampire is a careless vampire and Jane's been drunk more times than he can count, usually by my influence. Still, my head's hazy and I feel almost relaxed. It's a welcome distraction from the self-loathing that has taken over my thoughts the last twenty-four hours.

I take a heavy breath, attempting to center my focus and equilibrium for a moment. The warm, gritty scent of limestone and terracotta from the old world Tuscan architecture surrounding us fills my lungs. It's dry, nothing like the oppressive, dank humidity of the Pacific Northwest, and I find no comfort in it.

He's too far away.

"I don't want to turn him," I answer after I find my voice. "Mommy Dearest will never let me keep him, and I can't...kill him."

"Hm, then you'd better be careful." She chooses her words with just as much care, though her sharp gaze isn't as subtle. "Aro won't hesitate to kill him, or use him as an excuse to keep you here." There's a measure of sympathy in her voice, because while her allegiance is to him and she stays out of loyalty, she knows I'd be held against my will.

All vampires leave their makers eventually, though, even after hundreds of years. It's inevitable, and Jane is already restless.

"I know," I mumble, my expression darkening. At the mere thought of harm coming to him, I suddenly feel very volatile. I wouldn't hesitate to kill Aro if he went after Edward, and without Jane and Alec he'd be defenseless. Emmett could easily take on Felix. He's bigger and has more spirit, and Felix is as dead as every vampire stagnating in the ancient city. Fossils of an age gone by. Jane included. It's why she often pesters me to visit. I breathe new life into her; to the eternal youth she's beginning to forget she possesses. "But you won't allow that, will you?"

"Of course, I won't," she answers without hesitation. I'm the only vampire who has ever caused her to challenge her maker, and I give her another half a century before she breaks free.

We share a sisterhood, Jane and I. It's not quite as strong as the bond I have with Rose but we clicked immediately. Like me, she was once the ugly duckling transformed into a swan; her flaxen blonde hair the only thing that followed her into immortality. _Marylyn Monroe_ Alice jokingly refers to her as. Much to Rose's displeasure.

"Just keep him as a pet," she insists. "You'll get so attached to him, you'll eventually decide to turn him. It's how most of us are made."

She's right of course, but most pets are kept as virtual prisoners. Often times they're chained in dungeons as a constant food source for vampires who have isolated themselves from the world around them.

"Hm...I don't think I could even if I were allowed," I admit, my eyes darting to the unconscious drifter snoring loudly before us. His head is slumped back over the cast-iron chair, the blood still oozing from the small puncture wounds in his neck, but no one takes notice. The shadows are dark enough to conceal our even darker secret.

"You've been bewitched by a human, Bella. You might as well accept it." She sounds certain, but I'm not ready to welcome it quite just yet.

"I'm still not sure whether it's his blood doing this to me, or something more." I lean my forearms against the table, my head's swimming. It'll be aching by morning; the vampire equivalent of a hangover. If I don't drink clean blood, that is. "How do you tell?"

She shrugs a shoulder, her eyes following mine briefly as a smile twitches at her lips. "How should I know? I haven't found my singer."

"How do you expect to find him if you stay in the same place for eternity," I point out wryly.

Her smile broadens, but for the most part it's to herself. "Why are you so certain it'd be a _he_?"

I pause and gauge her for a moment, smirking. "Call me old fashioned. I didn't know you swing that way."

She shrugs again. "I like the thought of it being a she. God knows I'm constantly surrounded by males."

"Chelsea?" I remind her.

She rolls her eyes. "She's a neolith. Not one of them appeals to me. Alec feels the same way." She clears her throat pointedly. "You know, he still has regard for you."

"Did you forget he's frozen to the age I detest?" I raise my eyebrows; her eyes roll again and she all but snorts.

"And yet here you are pining after one the same age."

"_Pining_?" I echo in offense. "_Hardly_."

She's unconvinced and growing cynical. "I'd kind of like to see him first hand. This boy who's tamed you."

She laughs at my replying scowl, and I flick her arm jokingly. "Come back with me, then."

"I'm sure Rose will be _terribly_ glad to see me," she says ruefully.

"She'll get over it. Alice and Esme will be."

"After Alice's makeover the last time? Someone needs to buy that girl a Barbie." She grimaces openly and I chuckle.

Alice is understandably horrified by Jane's attire of choice, and the look of mortified agony on Jane's face when Alice tried to play dress-up with her after her last visit still makes all of us laugh.

"True."

"How long are you staying?"

"Twelve months. Or until he's safely in college somewhere on the other side of the country."

She scrutinizes me closely for several uncomfortable seconds. "So you really don't intend to turn him?"

I shake my head. "Why would I when I'm not sure."

"Sure about what?"

"...Anything," I murmur, breaking her gaze awkwardly.

She huffs as if I'm exasperating her. "That's exactly why you should be around him until you _are_ sure."

"I might not like the conclusions I come to," I say honestly, and she shrugs for a third time.

"You can't stay alone forever, Bella." Her voice softens this time, because whether she'll admit to it or not, she's as equally lonely.

"I'm not alone."

"You know what I mean. Take your mate—whoever he is. If he's this boy, keep him around until he matures. No one says you have to marry a child."

I scoff out how ridiculous it is. "Human males are fickle, or have you forgotten?"

"His blood sings to you, though," she counters. "He is one in six billion humans, Bella. You'd be a fool to let him go."

"He's too handsome, and I can't have a mate prettier than me."

"Oh?" Her interest is suddenly piqued. "And yet he's still alive. Interesting."

"He's not..._that_ teenager though, that's the problem." I'm yet to discover why.

"Which teenager? One at the top of the high school food chain?"

"Exactly."

"I'm failing to see why he isn't."

"He is, but he isn't," I explain in frustration, because I barely understand it myself. "He's unusually...grounded." To use Rose's words.

"You speak as if that's a bad thing."

I shake my head. I must be drunker than I first thought. I'm not usually wracked by so much doubt. "I don't know..."

"You owe it to yourself to see whether this boy will have any significance in your life," she says with entirely too much rationality.

"I realize that," I'm forced to concede.

"Then get back there before I do. I'll turn your little boy myself."

"You wouldn't dare," I say as my heart slams against my ribs at the prospect.

"Of course, I would. I'm feeling charitable."

"I'll feed you rat's blood until the end of your days."

She laughs; she knows my threats are empty. My emotions aren't nearly as hollow, though.

It's not that I'm impartial to turning humans, but to have one who is the very essence of the breed that killed me? I'm not even close to closing the final chapter on my human life, nor am I ready to start a new one while it's still so painfully unresolved.

* * *

**A/N: Is Bella mellowing already? Don't be so sure... ;)**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Throwing in a quick update before I have to do gross domestic duties, like make school lunches. School hols went too bloody quick, damn it!  
Thanks Kim, Melinda and Leigh. MWAH.**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 9.**

I last barely more than a month in Volterra, and it's not because of Aro, Caius, or Marcus that I move on, it's my red canary, himself.

On the fourth Wednesday, after I left Forks, he sends me a text. I remind myself to get a new SIMS card and phone number soon.

_**Are you coming back? **_

**No. **I reply without hesitation.

_**Why?**_ He asks naively.

**Not your concern. Now stop bothering me. **

_**If it's because of me, you don't have to worry. I've decided it doesn't matter.**_

I stare at his reply for a good thirty seconds with my mouth falling open in shock. **You are not in control of your faculties.**

_**I'm perfectly in control. Please come back.**_

**You need to forget about me and get on with your life, silly boy. I left because I don't want to kill you. **

_**How can I live now knowing what I know?**_

**That kind of information will get you killed. If you're smart, you'll keep it to yourself.**

_**I don't have any intention of telling anyone. No one would believe me, anyway.**_

**There are some who will, so never mention my name or any of my family's again, or I will come back and break your neck.**

_**I believe you. I've seen you do it firsthand, remember?**_

**This conversation is now over.**

For the next week, he continues to text, but I ignore him until I absolutely couldn't.

_**You're in Italy.**_He texts quite matter-of-factly, leaving me completely jarred.

**Who told you?! **I practically scream it out to the clear Tuscan skyline as my fingers hastily type it.

_**I saw it in your mother's mind. I went to Florence two years ago with my folks. I recognized it immediately. **_

**I'm leaving tomorrow. **

_**I'll find you.**_

**I hardly think so, but if you feel like walking into a den of the most dangerous coven that exists, by all means...**

_**Bella, I can't stop thinking about you.**_

**You'll get over it. All humans do. **

_**I won't.**_

I leave the following day, replacing my phone's SIM the instant I leave the country. Jane follows me as far as Paris before her maker gets clingy and calls her home.

"Are you ever going to leave that old fossil?" I put to her, impatient by her blind allegiance.

"Bella..." She sighs. She knows Aro will hear this conversation if she allows him to, and the wretch will rarely refuse him. It's not her safety that she's concerned for, though. Jane is her own army after all. She's worried what leaving Aro will do to him.

By the same hand, the moment she allows him to read her, he will consequently know about my red canary. That's what makes me nervous. It's only been because of Jane that he hasn't forced me into servitude already. She threatened to leave him if he held me against my will, and I'm hoping she can keep him placated over Edward as well. She's promised as much, and she knows Alice has foreseen him as one of us.

The irony is, I knew the repercussions of coming to Volterra before I left, but I came anyway. Jane believes it was to have my hand subconsciously forced. If Aro threatens to come after Edward, I will turn him the moment I hear a word. As much as I'd desire to, I would never kill Jane's maker for her sake. Nor would I make her chose between him and our friendship, no matter how important she's confessed I am to her.

"I'm not ready," she concludes, but I've heard it scores of times in the past. She _is _ready, but she's having trouble making that final leap.

"Because twelve-hundred-years isn't enough?" I raise my brows, and her smile this time is sheepish.

"Stop being bothersome."

"Next time, you have to visit me," I concede and outstretch my arms in farewell.

"Only if you send away that insane imp first," she replies, squeezing me tightly for several moments.

I laugh and nod my head. "Agreed."

"If by the time I visit, this little red canary of yours isn't turned..." She leaves it unspoken, the implications evident as her smile turns sly.

I shove her teasingly backward. "You said it yourself. I have to let him mature."

"If only that was your intention." Her brow arches.

"Stop being bothersome."

She smiles in acknowledgment. "Farewell, sweet Bella."

"Goodbye, Jane the Virgin."

She smirks and almost laughs; it looks completely alien. "Begone, crazy child of the twentieth century."

I laugh before it inevitably falls. "Remember, the moment you suspect Aro might intervene..."

"He wouldn't dare go against me, but I'll alert Alice if I can't reach you," she promises, nodding her head once. "Stop worrying and return home to him, or I'll go back on my word."

But I don't return home to him. I wander Europe aimlessly for several more weeks. I try going vegan, but I don't last longer than five days before I crash and burn. For the most part, I feed on evil-doers, stalking their movements until I catch them red-handed in their crimes. Rapists, murderers, drug-dealers—the youngest I can find, of course. Killing them is effortless and has zero impact on my re-emerging conscience. There are more than enough in supply in Europe's largest cities, that after a while I forget why I have to remind myself not to think of my family.

It's the first week of December when the decision is made on my behalf. My red canary texts me again, and initially, my anger is directed at Alice, until I collect myself enough to read it in its entirety.

_**Hey, Bella. It's Edward. Someone called Jane the Virgin messaged me. She gave me this number and said to tell you that you have a week to return home or she will.**_

"Son of a bitch!" I impulsively burst out into the crowd of Harrods' shoppers. They all turn to stare in various degrees of curiosity and amusement until I'm approached by a security guard.

"You'll have to keep it down, miss," he informs me, smiling down at me regardless.

I throw him a murderous glare in return before stalking out of the store onto the icy street beyond, dialing Jane's number as I do.

"You crazy bitch!" I holler down the phone the instant she answers, and I'm met by her laughter.

"_Desperate times call for desperate measures. We're friends on Facebook_." Her laughter increases, and I start to feel rather faint—if that were at all possible.

"_What?!_" My voice almost fails. It's either because a twelve-hundred-year old vampire is on Facebook or her befriending Edward, but I'm not altogether sure.

"_He sounds rather sweet. I bet he tastes as much, too._"

"You..." With an exasperated shake of my head, I abandon it and change course. "Has he threatened anything?" I ask through clenched teeth.

"_Of course not. I promised him your pet is no danger and reminded him that in removing something precious from you, I will remove myself from him. He immediately fell over himself to assure me your little boy will be quite safe. Though, he's nineteen, isn't he_?"

"I have no idea, but just know that I hate you, you interfering witch!"

"_You are very welcome. Edward promised to keep me informed, by the way. He is quite grounded, I agree_."

"I'll kill you!" I fume.

Her continued laughter is the last thing I hear before the line cuts out.

I'm booked for the first flight out of the UK by nightfall. I do not reply to Edward's message.

I was gone for close to ten weeks, and naturally, Mommy and Daddy Dearest have a story ready for my return. I was studying abroad for two months on a visiting scholarship. It's complete with forged documents from Westminster School London, England, but Carlisle's influence is far-reaching and he has friends of all kinds on every continent.

I'm welcomed home like the prodigal daughter I am most definitely not. I'm kissed and hugged by my long-suffering parents before Alice squeals over me, and Emmett almost breaks my back in his enthusiasm. I humor Jasper by lowering my shield long enough for him to inflict me with his mental Xanax, and it's worth it to see his full, lopsided toothy grin. It's a rarity for him.

It's Rose who's the happiest to see me though, and it's reciprocated.

She hugs me close, whispering a very sincere, "if you leave me again, I will tear your fangs out," into my ear.

"We'll go hunting later," I promise her in return as a grin pulls wide across her face.

"I have been in the severest withdrawals because of you and your sudden bout of conscience," she complains covertly, though the smile doesn't wane from her lips.

"Conscience? Me?"

We leave at dusk, settling on our usual haunt in Port Angeles and frequenting several seedy bars before we're both satiated. Or as the humans would say, _wasted_. After Rose's forced hiatus, we drank ourselves stupid and by the time we're done, we've both descended into a fit of giggling as we stumble along the dimly lit streets.

"God, catch a whiff of that, will you!" I blurt, coming to a standstill as I suddenly pick up the intoxicating scent on the icy breeze. "Is that my...?"

My question is instantly answered as I look up and suddenly find myself staring into a pair of forest green eyes. He freezes, equally shocked as I am, but he's not alone. Like he usually is, he's surrounded by his usual sycophants. Acne Perm, of course, Fake ID, the girl with terrible eyesight, some boy whose name suddenly escapes me—it could be Derrick—Tyler whatever-his-surname-is, and the queen of promiscuity herself, Lauren Mallory.

"Oh, my little red canary. There you are," I slur, breaking from Rose's arms to stagger over to him. "God...You smell soo good..."

"Um...Bella, are you drunk?" He's confused and perhaps a little flabbergasted. "How is she drunk?" His question this time is directed at Rose.

"How does anyone get drunk?" Rose answers, chuckling to herself.

I slide up against him, dragging my nose from the base of his throat up along the contours of his neck.

"I am very drunk, and _you_ are _very_ pretty..." I kiss his flesh, and then again, feeling that rapidly pulsating, fiery jugular vein beneath my lips. My canines are extending; a fact that's not lost on me, and the elevated ratio of blood and alcohol flowing through my system has completely ignited me.

"You're warm," he says, and while his voice is soft, there's an element of awkwardness in it.

"So, are you," I reply, swaying into him, and behind me Rose snickers.

"Aren't they all."

The heat of his intensely fragrant blood intensifies. I can feel it against my mouth, and beneath my fingers that are twisting into his shirt as I attempt to anchor myself. His hands spring out to steady me, enveloping me into his warmth as a low-pitched groan breaks from me. "Oh god...I might just have to eat you all up."

"Bella..." He clears his throat and swallows thickly.

"Mm-hmm...?" I lean back to see him before my eyes catch the hostile gaze of my red canary's fuck buddy. "_You_"—I point my finger at her—"I am going to kill you _very soon_."

She snorts, but curling his arm around my shoulders, Edward turns me completely away from her.

"And you," I say as my eyes catch Acne Perm's this time, "keep doing that ketogenic diet. You don't know how safe you are. Most revolting snack I've ever had—blegh!" I giggle in unison with Rose before breaking off to hiccup.

"What...does that even mean?" Frizz Perm asks guy-whose-name-I-don't-care-to-recall as the red canary clears his throat again, pointedly this time.

"Bella...c-can I drive you home?" He stumbles over his words, and Jane is right; it's kind of sweet.

"Of course not. Rose can drive. Can't you, wench?"

"Of course I can, bitch. Rest assured."

"You might get hurt," he adds, the concern in his voice genuine, as I burst into laughter.

"I might get hurt. Did you hear that, Rose?"

"Oh, I heard."

"If you drive me home, _you _might get hurt," I say, leaning back and raising a brow in deliberate emphasis. He smiles over my inside joke, but I'm immediately cynical. "Nope, that won't work on me, pretty boy."

"Bella..."

"I am not happy with you." I pout. "You told me you wanted to fuck me and I immediately catch you fucking"—I turn in his arms, dragging him unwittingly with me as I once again point my index finger at Lauren—"_that_!"

She's scowling at me, her expression darkening so much I laugh. "God, please stop—you smell horrible."

"You crazy, drunk bitch. You're lucky you're so wasted!" she threatens me, and in that instant, I am sobered up by fifty percent.

"Oh?" I shove from Edward's arms, and as he stumbles back, I square off with her. "Would you like to take your chances?"

"Bella..." Rose groans, sounding irked, but she doesn't attempt to intervene.

"Bring it," Lauren naively pushes, as my red canary immediately places himself directly between us.

"Lauren, you don't want to go there—she's a black belt in Jujitsu," he hastily explains, as I scoff.

"I'm a black belt in _blood sport_, and I'm still going to kill her."

"Bella..." He sighs.

"I changed my mind. You can drive me home." I turn back to him, taking a fistful of his shirt and pulling it from him. "Okay?"

"Oh...okay." He smiles broadly this time, and I roll my eyes.

"Calm down, Sonny Jim. I might have you for dessert, but that's all. Rose?" I glance at her over my shoulder, gauging her reaction.

"Just go," she says in her usual exasperated tone as she shoots daggers at Fake ID. "What are you staring at, vomiter?"

"Edward?!" Lauren demands, outraged.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," he replies, sounding almost apologetic until I realize he's attempting to placate her.

He's worried I'll kill her, and his fears are completely justified.

She turns her head towards me and glowers.

In return, I smirk—broadly and wholly for her benefit. "Give it up, Marilyn. He belongs to me. Isn't that right, my red canary?" I turn back to him, and he frowns and lowers his head as a heavy breath expels from him.

"I belong to her," he affirms in a quiet voice, but it's obvious it's not something he wanted to say.

Still, I'll take it, and turning back to Lauren, I flash her a triumphant grin.

"It's so_ over_ between us!" she immediately seethes, whipping her head away from us and stalking off down the street.

I scoff back my laughter and glance up at him. A smile is subtly pulling on his lips this time, completely surprising me.

"It's _so_ over," I imitate her. "Are you s_o_ wounded, Edward?"

"The vomiter was _leering_ at me!" Rose breaks in before he can answer, and her patience has officially severed. "I'm going to head back to Em." Wrapping her arms around me she pulls me momentarily against her. "I'll see you back home tonight. Do _not_ do anything reckless," she adds the latter in a whisper for my ears only.

"Relax, sister dearest." I nudge her in return. "I might have a taste, though."

I watch as Rose follows after Edward's troupe of Klingons toward her car before turning back to him.

"Are you okay to walk?" he asks, fighting the obvious urge to grin this time.

"Of course, I am," I reply indignantly, but after several steps, it's obvious I'm not. I'm unsteady and I keep stumbling over my own feet.

With a short sigh, he secures his hand around my back, under my arm, practically holding me up. I'm almost loathe to admit I like it. His warmth, his scent is all over me. I'm surprised I'm able to resist him, but I'm not nearly as coherent enough to begin analyzing it.

"How the hell does a vampire even get drunk?" he puts to me, shaking his head.

"It's not hard to guess if you think about it." I gaze up at him properly for the first time. He's had a haircut, but I don't like it; those unusual highlights of his are missing.

"You drank from someone who was drunk."

"By George, he's got it!"

He smiles and makes a scoffing sound. I'm too drunk to decipher the context, but I'm quite certain he might not be exactly pleased with me.

"To get this drunk though, I had to drink from quite a few."

He turns to gaze down at me, his eyes wide with sudden horror. "How many?"

"Hmm...ten. Maybe..." I shrug indifferently.

"Bella..." His voice falls to a whisper. "You killed _ten people_?"

"Of course, I didn't," I immediately set him straight, but I'm less than impressed by his assertions. "Silly boy! I can drink without killing, you know."

He gauges me for several too-long moments. "Stop calling me a boy," he decides to go with, his voice lowering.

"What should I call you, then?"

He opens his mouth to reply, but hesitates, his expression suddenly frustrated. "I'm not a boy."

"You're not a man."

"I'm old enough to vote."

I break into an immediate smile; I can't help it. "So you are."

He returns it, forcing me to break his gaze. He's entirely too pretty, and all I can envisage is how prettier he'd be as an immortal.

"Why did you leave?" he asks after awkwardly helping me to walk along the sidewalk for several feet.

"Because you're too old to believe in monsters under the bed."

"You're not a monster," he replies, frowning again.

"Aren't I?" I dare him to disagree.

He shakes his head, answering with troubled silence.

"You're blinded by my face, but that's exactly what it's intended to do. It's why we're all beautiful. _All_ of us."

"You're more beautiful than any of them," he admits, and he's completely sincere; as far as I can tell anyway.

"Oh my God." I laugh dryly, ironically.

"It's true," he insists.

"What if I was hideous-looking like most of all vampire folklore? A demon who rises from a coffin every night smelling of death. Hmm?"

He stares down at me as if he's suddenly finding me amusing. "What if you didn't lust after my blood? What's the point in hypotheticals right now?"

"What if I appeared as I was before I was turned?" My throat automatically tightens, my voice behind it stiff.

"What did you look like before you were turned?" He's smart enough to proceed with caution because I'm rapidly sobering in the wake of where this conversation is heading.

"Nothing like I look now. My name is _Swan_ for a reason," I mutter bitterly. "My face captivates you and nothing more. At least be honest with yourself if you can't with me."

He looks away, clearing his throat as if he's choosing his words carefully. "It's true, you're beautiful, but it's not only that." He glances back at me, his eyes almost beseeching. "There's something more..."

Disgusted, I shove away from him, and as he fights to remain on his feet, I hasten my step away from him.

"Hey, wait a minute." He catches up to me and grabs my elbow, jerking me a little too roughly to him. "Bella..."

"There's _nothing_ more," I snap, tearing my arm from him. "My face draws you in and my strength ends your life. That's _all_ there is to it."

He's shaking his head before I can finish. "If that were true you would have killed me. You wouldn't have left."

"You know nothing!"

"No!" he bursts, anger and frustration seeping into his voice for the first time. "You want me to be honest with myself, then you have to be honest with _yourself._ You don't want me to think of you as a monster."

"You..." I'm at a loss for words; something I can barely begin to grasp. "What is it you see in me? I've been nothing but horrible to you."

He releases his breath, his shoulders relaxing with it. "I told you, I haven't worked it out, yet."

"You think I'm mysterious, don't you? A character from a book? A movie?"

"You are definitely mysterious. I mean—vampires? It's nuts, but..." Reaching up, he drags his long fingers through his shortly cropped hair. "I don't know..." he appears to conclude.

"You're not supposed to know," I mumbled not really for his benefit.

"Yeah, I get that. You seem sobered up already." He changes the subject. "That was pretty quick."

"I have a built-in caffeinated system," I say wryly. "But in a few hours, my head and my stomach will ache."

"Seriously?" he asks in disbelief. "You get hangovers?"

"For a short while." I smile in response to him. This reaction I'm having to him is becoming more and more frequent, and I'm not sure it's a positive thing.

"What cures it?"

I turn to him, quirking a brow at his naivety. "What do you think?"

"Blood," he murmurs, shoving both hands deep into his pockets.

"You sound surprised."

"I'm not."

"I'm not sure I believe you."

"Bella..." He stops and I realize we've arrived at his car.

"What?"

"Would you like to drink from me?" His eyes break from mine and fall to the pavement.

I observe him for a moment, my smile twitching to the surface again. "You're asking me that?"

"Yeah." His brow creases but he keeps his gaze fused to his feet.

"Would you like me to?"

"Yeah," he repeats that one word after several moments of silence, before raising his head slowly.

"I can't be certain I won't kill you," I admit truthfully.

He shakes his head. "You said that you can feed without killing."

I pause. He's quite sharp this human and it surprises me. "You're different. Your blood sings to me."

"But...you don't seem like you're in pain around me anymore. You got really close to me back there." He tilts his head behind him while his eyes remain locked to mine.

"I'm not."

His expression falls, and as ridiculous as it is, he appears disappointed. "So, I don't smell nice anymore?"

"You smell just as nice as you always have." I put him out of his misery, bringing the smile immediately back to his lips.

"Then...why...?"

I jerk a shoulder, but it's more because he's asking me a question I don't have an answer for. "I'm not sure."

"You stopped before," he reminds me, his voice losing its tenor. "You didn't kill me.

"I _barely_ stopped," I correct him. "I can't chance that again."

He pauses as if weighing it up. "So...you want to feed on me but you don't want me to die."

"You're catching on," I say dryly.

His smile jerks askew for a moment before it inevitably falls. "What does my blood do to you?"

"...It's...indescribable."

**. . .**

"Sorry I haven't got my seatbelt fixed," he offers up an apology five minutes into the trip home.

"I really don't need one," I assure him, almost laughing because he looks so earnest.

"Yeah." His smile is sheepish as his breath shoots from his nose. "I keep forgetting."

"I have no idea why."

"It's because you..._feel_ like any other girl. You're skin's just cooler." He turns to me, his eyes sparkling with curiosity; he wants to know why.

I smile again without any hope of preventing it. "I'll show you when we get back."

His smile quickly echoes mine, and I realize he's happy by my promise.

We descend back into silence, and Edward's eyes rarely sever from the road before him. It allows me the opportunity to study him closely; to notice the small idiosyncrasies that are native to him.

The first is he sucks in his cheeks subconsciously as he drives, or when his mind's drifting. Often times he smiles while he's doing this and it's more than a little exasperating; I'm finding I'm partial to it. The second is he drags those long fingers of his constantly through his hair, no matter what emotion he appears to be portraying. Both mannerisms he will sometimes do simultaneously, giving him either a bearing of constant anxiety or deep reflection; both I enjoy observing.

The third is the smile that pulls wide across his face when he notices me watching him. This I enjoy least of all because there is an air of self-assurance about it; something that usually does not bode well with me.

"Bella...?" he eventually breaks into my preoccupation.

"Hm?"

"Are you really going to kill Lauren?"

"It's very possible."

"I was afraid of that," he mumbles.

"Were you?" I break into a grin, and when his eyes turn briefly in my direction, he nearly returns it.

"If I asked you not to, would you?" His brows raise with a somewhat pitiful pleading.

"Hmm," I consider it. "Maybe. You'd have to give me a good reason not to, though."

"I just...don't want to see her die."

I scrutinize him for a moment, and I'm not happy with what I'm witnessing. "I think you're in love with her."

He smirks in a way that suggests it's ridiculous. "No. I just don't want anyone I know dying."

I release my breath in concession. "Fine, but you'd better keep her away from me in the future."

* * *

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed, and stick around to read more.**


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N: My mind's drawing a blank. This working business... It's for schmucks! I'm fubar!  
Thanks, as always, to Kimmie45, StarryEyedWriter8, and Leigh Warner. **

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 10**

He walks me to the door, a pace behind me, his hands buried deep within his pockets. I'm growing too cynical, though. This is not how boys of the twenty-first century behave, and I'm convinced it's all an act.

"What are you doing? Do you think I'll get lost on the way to my own house?" I say over my shoulder, becoming impatient as he continues to shadow me.

He smiles, and while he has an obscenely appealing smile, I don't like this one. There's an element of patronizing about it. He's already becoming complacent with me again and it's showing.

"Be very careful, pretty boy," I warn, my eyes narrowing. All I succeed in doing is increasing the width of his smile.

"What?" He feigns some kind of innocence.

"You know very well _what_."

"Are you normally this paranoid?"

I huff, and after stepping onto the porch, I turn to completely face him. "This is _not _the 50s. I do not need you to escort me home."

"The _50s_..." he echoes just as I realize my blunder, and it's obvious he's weighing it up.

"50s, 40s—you get my meaning!" I snap impatiently as a too obvious cover.

"Are you going to show me?" he changes the subject.

"Show you what?" I ask suspiciously.

"Why you don't need a seat belt..." He clears his throat to further stress it.

"You're squeamish, and I really don't want to be vomited over."

His expression smooths out indignantly. "I'm _not_ squeamish, you…I...just..."

I smirk at his blatant pride. No matter what age, all boys are the same. "You _just_...?" I mock him.

"I told you, I wasn't expecting it," he mumbles, lowering his gaze to the ground as a discernible frown mars his expression.

"Mm-hmm..."

"Fine," he mutters. He turns to leave just as Mommy Dearest throws open the door in greeting.

"Edward! How are you?"

He turns hastily back and throws her a quickly put together smile. "Good, thank you, Mrs. Cullen. How are you?"

"I'm fine." She pushes the door open wider and holds her arm out for him to enter. "Please come in. Bella, you were going to invite him in, weren't you?"

"I hadn't planned on it," I reply sarcastically as Esme immediately scowls at me.

"Just ignore her, sweetheart. Would you like something to drink?" she asks after momentarily taking him into her arms.

"Mom, stop trying to feed him—he's fine!" I blurt as Edward politely declines.

"Bella!" she reprimands me, her expression turning hard.

I shrug, and tsking semi-beneath her breath, she turns back to Edward as her face immediately softens again. "If you change your mind..."

He nods and smiles, and it practically makes her swoon. She's no doubt planning ahead for the day Edward will be her newest son-in-law. She's more grounded when it comes to me, but like Carlisle, she can be in complete denial.

We pass Alice in the living room on the way to the stairs. She pulls herself from the chair she was occupying reading. "Hi, Edward."

"Hey," he replies as a slight frown immediately knots his brow.

"I'm covering him as well, so don't even try it," I warn her as a rueful smile twitches at her lips.

"I hadn't planned on anything of the kind."

Scoffing, I grab one of Edward's hands pulling him after me up the stairs. "What did you see?"

"She was singing."

"Singing?" I repeat, glancing back at him; he looks as equally confused.

"I'm Henry the 8th, I am."

"That little rat..." I mutter.

"Does she know about me?"

"Yeah, I might have slipped it to her..." I mumble, wishing I hadn't. It was a hasty act after an even hastier decision. One I always regret, but still haven't learned from. "I thought you said you could only see images, by the way?" I remind him, and his grin pulls fractionally wider.

"I do, but I get sound with it, too."

Once in my room, Edward takes it upon himself to browse through my books, pulling the odd one out by the spine and flicking through its pages. "You like the classics." he notes.

"I'm only human." I snort over my own joke.

He smiles to himself before plucking out another; one of the several leather-bound journals Carlisle had given me during my first decade with him.

"_That_, you don't need to see," I say, immediately taking it from his hand and slotting it back in place, but I wasn't quick enough; he read the cover.

"1953..." he murmurs, reflecting on it before his eyes rise to meet mine. "How old were you?"

"Not you concern."

His smile momentarily broadens as he continues inspecting my room regardless. "Holy shit," he murmurs, picking up the silver framed, black and white photo of me and Jane in Egypt in 1960. "Who's the blonde?"

"Jane the Virgin," I say wryly.

He gazes at it for several more seconds before he sets it back. "Is she really a virgin?"

Folding my arms across my chest, I gauge him. "You ask some really inappropriate questions."

He smiles as if he means to laugh, but he doesn't. "She friended me on Facebook, but there's no photos of her." he informs me of what I already know.

"So, I heard. If you want to live, I'd consider _unfriending_ her."

"...Why?" He observes me closely, and he's infinitely closer to laughing at me this time. That's when I realize I sounded jealous and he picked up on it.

I huff and laugh dryly. "Don't get a head of yourself, bucko. Her maker is very possessive."

"Her maker?" he questions, arching a cynical brow.

I take a single step and am inches in front of him before he can blink, making him almost jump out of his skin. "Her _maker_," I reiterate.

"Jesus!" he bursts, lurching backward as his hand clutches at his chest. "_Don't do that_."

I smirk, placing my index finger to the middle of his chest and shoving him slightly backward. "Stop being cocky."

"I'm not cocky," he asserts, eyes wide with fabricated innocence before he turns back to my bookcase. "Are you stalling?"

"On what?"

"Showing me."

"Good God," I mutter with an exasperated sigh. "If you vomit in my room, you'll be cleaning it up."

"I'm not going to vomit," he insists in a monotone this time. I've offended him again.

"Fine." Very meticulously, I walk to the floor-to-ceiling window of my room that overlooks the darkened woods. It's open like it usually is. Animals have a more heightened sense of danger than humans, so there's never an issue with squirrels or raccoons in my space. Even critters of the eight-legged kind are perceptive enough to keep away.

Placing my wrist to the steel frame, I slam the window closed with enough force that my hand is almost severed from my arm. Blood bursts all over the glass, splattering up and down my crisp white walls and dark hardwood floors. The pain is excruciating and I have to press my lips tightly together as I hold up my stricken hand and allow Edward to witness it heal.

Three seconds is all it takes for my scaphoid bone to reattach to my radius and the deep wound through skin, muscle and tendon to seal completely closed. The amount of blood still covering my wrist obscures the extent of it, though. Walking into my bathroom, and motioning for Edward to follow, I wash it from my skin and hold my completely healed wrist out to him; twisting it slowly back and forth in emphasis.

"Happy?"

"...Jesus..." he utters in barely a whisper, his eyes wide and his mouth agape. "That is nuts."

I almost scoff but stop myself. "Now stop bothering me."

"So, you can get hurt, you just...immediately heal..." he mumbles more or less to himself as he follows me back into my room.

"Score one for captain obvious."

His eyes sharpen to mine and he appears to scrutinize me for a moment. "What if you were blown up?"

I tilt my head in response. "Are you deliberating ways to kill me?"

His eyes widen again, but this time he looks appalled. "No—God, no. I'm just..."

"Curious?" I interject, sitting myself down on the edge of my daybed.

Shoving his hands back in his pockets, he shrugs a shoulder and breaks my gaze. "I guess."

"As far as I know, there's only one way to kill us. If we're bitten by a werewolf."

"A..._what_?" His voice fails.

"You heard me."

"Jesus, what else exists out there?" It's not really a question. "Leprechauns?"

I smile slightly to myself. "It's possible, but I've never seen one."

"Is there any...werewolves around here?" he practically whispers and it's becoming almost impossible not to laugh out loud.

"Yes, but we have a treaty with them. So long as we stay off their lands, there'll be no war with them."

He stares at me for a good half minute, his mouth wide as if he's considering whether to take me seriously. "If a human gets bitten, will we...turn into one?"

I do laugh this time, lightly and only once. "No, it's a genetic thing. Unless you have native Indian ancestors...?" I raise my brow and he smiles sheepishly looking relieved.

"Nope, strictly Irish and English."

"Then you're fine."

He returns my smile before moving to sit beside me on my chaise. His legs are long, and bending forward he rests his forearms against his knees. It's such a subconscious mannerism and it only makes it more obvious that he feels relaxed around me. At ease. "So, in a fight who has the upper hand? Vampires or werewolves?"

"We do before they phase, and then...it's pretty even."

"Is there...like this long running feud with them?" he asks, turning to stare directly into my eyes.

I snort softly to myself and shake my head. "You obviously watch too many movies. Their bloodlines are so diluted now that they've become a dying race, whereas we can turn any human any time we wish. We outnumber them."

He appears to weigh it up, sucking in his cheeks again as he reflects on it.

"You know, only two types of humans are allowed to know this kind of information about us." I nudge him from his distraction, bringing the smile back to his lips.

"Who...?" he gazes at me squarely again.

"Our pets or those we intend to turn."

He stares at me for several awkward seconds as if trying to read my mind. "Which one am I?"

"Neither."

His face falls. He's disappointed, I realize. "You told Lauren I belong to you."

"You do."

"Then...what does it...mean?" His eyes fall to his feet, his stance not nearly at ease as it was moments ago.

"Do you want to belong to me?" I ask, and grabbing a handful of that thick, syrupy-colored hair of his, I pull his head back up. "Stop staring at the floor."

"Do I have a choice?" he asks in a softer voice, after another lingering pause.

"Of course, you do."

"Then...make me one of you."

I laugh once, ironically. "No chance."

"_Why_?"

"Boys are fickle. You don't mature until you're in your thirties and even then it's not your brain that controls your impulses."

"I'm not fickle."

I snort this time, not even minimally convinced. "How many girls have you been with?"

"Three."

"I don't believe you." I immediately dismiss him.

"Three—_I swear_." His eyes widen so earnestly that I immediately pause.

"Three?" I echo skeptically.

"Three."

"Lauren..." I encourage him to elaborate.

"Kate, she graduated last year, and erm"—he rubs the back of his neck with obvious discomfort—"a girl I met at camp when I was fifteen."

"When's your birthday?"

"June twenty."

"And you're turning twenty?"

He nods.

"Were you held back a year?"

"Yeah," he mumbles, frowning and immediately severing my gaze. "When I was a freshman."

"Why?"

He jerks an almost irritated shoulder letting me know he doesn't want to talk about it. "I just was."

"Hmm..." I consider it. There's a story there; one I need to find out.

"When's your birthday?" he asks, turning back to me in an obvious effort to take emphasis off him.

September thirteenth—_eighteen_," I pre-empt his second question in regards to the age I'm turning.

He smiles. "Were you turned in the 1950s?"

I immediately glare at him. "Stop prying."

His grin is toothy this time before he once again pulls his long frame to his feet and continues his inspection of my room. He examines my music this time; at least my collection before technology advanced beyond physical copies.

"You like Debussy?" he asks over his shoulder, and he appears surprised. I'm more surprised that he even knows who Debussy is; until I recall the fact that he plays the piano.

"I don't mind him." I half shrug.

"I can play Clair de Lune," he admits, looking rather pleased with himself.

"How _amazing_," I say with more than an obvious edge of sarcasm.

He huffs softly to himself, frowning with it, before turning back to my CDs. "The Four Seasons? You were definitely turned in the fifties."

"They were the sixties," I immediately counter.

"Why can't you tell me?" he turns back and asks, sounding wholly sincere.

"I will, as soon as _you_ tell me."

"Tell you...?" He's confused.

"The worst thing you've ever done."

His expression immediately darkens, but it's not in anger; frustration maybe, or shame. "I told you I feel bad over it." His eyes drop to the floor, and once again, he sucks in his cheeks; his expression as troubled as my thoughts are becoming.

"It must have been pretty bad," I surmise more or less to myself.

What do I do if he did something unforgivable? Can I still kill him?

"It was..." he murmurs.

"Was it irredeemable?" I ask, pulling myself slowly to my feet to stand beside him.

He nods in a fractured movement of his head, turning further from me. "I think...so."

"How old were you?"

"Fourteen."

I breathe a small sigh of relief. Fourteen is still a child. It's forgivable. "Look at me."

He does, for a brief moment at least, before his gaze once again finds its way back to the floor.

"Did you rape and murder some poor, helpless girl?" I ask outright as his head immediately snaps up and his eyes lock to mine in horror.

"_What_?—of course not! Jesus!" he utters in disbelief, but there's a slight quiver of contradiction in his voice. "I told you, I've never killed anyone."

I observe him for a moment. He's anxious and there's a definite culpability behind it. "Whatever it is, Edward, you do not want me finding out on my own," I explain seriously. I need him to know how dire it could be for his own sake.

He turns to meet my eyes while his are defeated. Resigned. "I spent eight weeks in juvie..."

"That's why you were held back?" I conclude, and he nods numbly.

"Yes."

"Tell me."

He shakes his head immediately and with a little too much desperation. "I can't, Bella. Please..."

"Shall I Google it?" I put to him, and while I don't mean it to be a threat, it comes out as one.

He hangs his head again, his shoulders slumping behind a heavy breath. "My father...protected my identity..." he mumbles.

"That won't be a problem. I guarantee no matter how smart your father is, Carlisle is still smarter."

"Bella," he looks up and pleads. "I don't want..."

"You should leave—_now_!" I say abruptly, cutting him off as my hands ball instinctively into fists. The anger is beginning to simmer along my body of skin; I can feel it rapidly compromising my rationality. "I can't promise you I won't kill you."

Looking relieved, he nods hastily and turns toward the door just as it bursts open. Alice is behind it and her wide, panicked eyes are fixed on my red canary. "I'll walk you out, Edward." She holds out her hand in invitation, and he willingly complies without a backward glance in my direction.

"Was she going to kill me?" I hear him ask her, and of course, Alice, the ever honest vampire, answers him truthfully.

"She could have in the heat of the moment, but she would have regretted it for the rest of her life."

"Is that what happened to her? Was she raped and-and murdered?" he asks stammering, and his hushed voice is grim. Grave, and maybe a little angry, but my focus lies more on Alice, and I hold my breath in response; praying silently she has the good sense not to answer.

"It's not my place to say," is her soft-spoken reply.

**. . .**

"How did you know?" I ambush Alice on her way back to her room.

She sighs patiently. "Bella, you might be able to block Jazz from calming you down, but you can't block him from feeling your emotions. He came to me in a blind panic telling me you were on the brink of tearing him apart."

I roll my eyes. "Well, that's a gross exaggeration."

She shrugs. "That's what your emotions were projecting."

"He's done something..." I mumble more or less to myself.

"He was barely more than a child."

"Were you eavesdropping?" It's not a question, and I know Alice can't help herself. Nor Rose, for that matter.

"I can't turn off my hearing."

"You can mind your own damn business, though." I scowl at her.

"Bella..." She sighs, her voice falling seriously. "Follow your own advice. Let him tell you himself. If you look into it you know you'll only come to your own conclusions."

I jerk an irritated shoulder. "I have no intention of looking into it myself." She's right, though. I _will_ make my own conclusions, and it won't be good for anyone. Least of all Edward.

**. . .**

The following morning, Rose, Em and I are back at school—much to Rose's continued distaste.

"A month—wasn't that what I was promised?" she continues to complain, pouting to herself as she applies her lipstick in the visor mirror.

Em's driving while I'm regulated to the back seat. It's raining, which isn't surprising, but I intended on running this morning. "You can drop out any time you like, Barbie," I tease her as we file out of her Merc.

"I wish you would either have him for dinner or marry him. This is getting tedious." She huffs, throwing her handbag over her shoulder because only Rose would take a Channel purse to high school.

"I haven't decided," I mumble, scanning the parking lot for his car.

It's in its usual spot at the rear, adjacent the woods. He's standing beside it, his fists in his pants pockets again and his shoulders slightly hunched as he looks up and meets my gaze. Removing a hand from his jeans apprehensively, he holds it up in greeting.

It's pathetic and I almost pity the poor sod. Instead, I motion him over with my index finger, and with what appears like an expression of relief he immediately makes his way over.

"Hey—how'd you get my sweater back?"

I roll my eyes and sigh slightly in exasperation. "You and your questions..."

"You can have it. I don't mind."

"Why, _thank you_," I reply dryly. "What are you staring at?"

He's scrutinizing me; his green eyes are canvassing my face closely, and it's obvious.

"N-nothing," he stammers, his cheeks flushing as he jerks his head away. That's when he drags his tense fingers back through his hair. "Bella...?" He's edgy. And nervous.

"What?"

"Do...you forgive me?"

I turn to him slowly, holding his gaze for several pointed seconds. "Forgive you for what?"

"I...shit..." He bows his head, his palm running to the back of his neck this time.

"My advice," Emmett cuts in, relaxing his arm around Edward's shoulders. "Just get it out of the way. I'll make sure she doesn't kill you."

Edward laughs ironically, but he doesn't sever his eyes from the damp concrete beneath us. "Yeah."

"Come hang at lunch," Emmett further offers before we part ways in the halls for Homeroom.

Edward looks up and almost smiles. "Okay. Bella...?" He turns to me to gauge my reaction.

"It's fine," I concede, waving my hand.

His smile turns to a cheesy grin, and I can only sigh past how pitiful he is. "I'll see you then."

"Good god," I mutter to myself as I turn and walk away.

Acne Perm is in my Homeroom. She sits herself brazenly beside me like she does every day, because apparently having surnames beginning with the same letter is _something else_ she constitutes as friendship.

"So, I thought I should warn you," she leans closer to me and whispers covertly in my ear.

"Warn me..." I echo in a restricted voice as the sickly sweet scent of ketones once again churns my stomach.

"Lauren wants to fight you after school." Her tone is high, conveying her partially concealed excitement.

I only turn to her in amazement. "Does she want to die?"

"Are you really a black belt?" It's quite evident she doesn't believe it.

"No," I answer simply, smiling slightly to myself. Let Lauren think she has an advantage over me.

"So...Edward only said that to protect you?" she continues to pry, and I'm less than impressed by her assertions.

"Protect me?" I repeat indignantly.

"Well, yeah, he's your boyfriend, isn't he?" Her head tilts fractionally; she's fishing for answers, and it's only blatantly obvious that she's waiting for me to deliver her some kind of hope. I have no intentions of doing anything of the kind.

"Of course he is. Would I be wearing his sweater if he wasn't?"

"But he cheated on you with Lauren..." Her voice fails in obvious disappointment. "She said you caught them both..." She doesn't elaborate; she doesn't have to, but I'm fast growing impatient with her.

He wouldn't be alive if he cheated on me.

"That was before we were together." I shrug a shoulder, forcing myself to come across as indifferent. "What he did before meeting me is his own business."

"So...have you had sex?"

I turn to her, arching a brow in a carefully measured warning. "I fail to see how that is any of your concern."

"Oh..." Her expression smooths out in obvious humiliation. "Sorry," she says meekly.

"You really need to mind your own damn business."

"I'm sorry," she echoes the same insincere sentiments.

"I honestly doubt that." I suck my breath in stiffly through my nose, letting her know this conversation is now over, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't eagerly awaiting my rendezvous with Lauren.

**. . .**

"So," Rose speaks up the moment I take the seat beside her in the cafeteria, "rumor has it one Lauren Mallory is going to beat you up this afternoon." Her lips twitch with open amusement while I snort loudly.

"The girl obviously has a death wish."

"Bella!" Edward cuts in, out of breath with an obvious edge of anxiety in his voice. "You're not—"

"Didn't I tell you to keep her away from me?" I turn my head to glance up at him; his eyes are wide with panic.

"Are you going...?" he slumps down in the chair beside me.

"I can't really back out now, can I?" I say simply, breaking into an inevitable smile.

"Jesus..."

"Relax. I won't kill her."

"She might break a few of her bones, though," Emmett pipes up snickering and extending a closed fist across the table to me.

"That's a given." I smirk, fist-bumping him.

"Bella..." Edward sighs and seemingly abandoning it he takes a bite of his burger while Rose eyes him curiously for several moments.

"God, that smells vile," I groan, inching him away from me with my elbow. "Red canary is squeamish," I explain his reaction to her.

"Would you stop saying that?" he complains, sounding genuinely annoyed.

"Saying what? Red canary?" I blink innocently.

"That I'm squeamish. I'm _not_."

"If you say so." I break into a full grin as Rose snorts softly to herself.

"Leave him alone," Emmett speaks up in defense of him.

"Why do you call me red canary?" Edward asks after a pause.

"You can't guess why?" I put to him, raising my brows.

He opens his mouth to answer only to close it and shake his head.

"It's your hair," Emmett answers for me.

"My hair's not red!" he blurts as if I'd just insulted him.

"What color would you call it?" I turn to him.

"...Brown," he answers sounding not the least bit convincing.

"_Really_?" I mock him.

He huffs sharply through his nose and actually scowls at me.

With my smirk broadening, I turn back to Rose as she goes through the motions of eating an apple.

"Boys..." she mumbles to herself with a slight shake of her head.

"Why are you like this!?" Edward suddenly demands.

"Like what?" I turn back to him and ask.

"You're always such a bitch to me!" He's angry, I realize, and it's almost impossible for me not to laugh this time.

"Am I a bitch to you?" I'm completely patronizing, only further proving his point.

"Fuck this!" he suddenly snaps only half beneath is breath, and just when I expect him to get to his feet and sulk away he yanks something out of his pocket instead. "Is this you?" he bursts, as I gaze down at the crumpled print-out he slams to the table.

"Oh, shit..." Rose utters, turning to me and shaking her head hastily as realization slowly descends on me.

It's a news article of my disappearance dated only a few months after Carlisle turned me, with my senior class photo printed at the top.

* * *

**A/N: Bella's a complete bitch, but mate, does he sure like to push her. Thanks for reading. I'm 14 chapters ahead, so I might be super nice and post 11 tonight, as well. **


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 11**

Emmett restrains me; he literally holds me against his mammoth chest with both arms securely wrapped around me. It's for purely pre-emptive measures because I don't speak, nor do I move. But my calm is more dangerous right now than any outburst that could break from me.

"You'd better run now while you can," Rose warned Edward after I had methodically pulled myself to my feet.

"Bella..." he appealed to me, his voice flooding with remorse, but I didn't look at him—I couldn't.

"Get going—_now_, you fool!" Rose snapped, her impatience revealing a sense of urgency behind it.

With a loud scrape of his chair, and without another word spoken, he left. I stay rooted where I stood, my palms flat against the surface of the table, entirely too still.

I had no direction, no plan or motive, and was on complete auto-pilot. But I was beginning to tremble. Rage was coursing along the surface of my skin until I could no longer contain it. That's when Emmett intervened and pulled me against him.

From an outside perspective, it would seem as though Edward and I had a fight and Emmett were consoling me, but I take no notice of the dull-murmured whisperings surrounding me. The only thing I'm aware of is my heart as it repeatedly slams against my ribcage while my entire body tenses around it.

I don't struggle or fight back; I simply take it, but my anger is fast giving way to a sense of defeat and my instincts to take flight are beginning to kick in.

"I need to leave," I say quietly, clearing the restriction from my voice.

"Bella..." Rose softly speaks up, but quickly abandons it. "We'll come with you."

Emmett releases me, but remaining cautious, takes my hand as Rose pulls herself to her feet alongside us.

"Come on," she says, curling her arm around my shoulders and leading the way out of the cafeteria.

A hush falls over the near vicinity as we leave, and we're trailed by one idiot human who really doesn't know when to quit.

"Where are you going?!" Lauren demands from behind me.

Emmett groans partially beneath his breath, while Rose huffs.

"You really don't want to push her right now, you silly girl."

"Running away, Bella?" Lauren ignores her, her eyes fixed firmly on mine in accusation.

"Do you want to die?" I promise her, my calm beginning to crumble.

"Please!" She snorts obnoxiously.

In the next instant, I have her by the arm, twisting it roughly behind her back before she's aware of the next second. I moved too fast, but my anger is supplanting my rationality right now.

"Ow—let me go, you crazy bitch!" she screeches out in a brain-scraping high pitch.

"Bella..." Rose sighs.

"You have five seconds," I seethe against her ear, squeezing her arm tighter as she whimpers. "_One_..."

"Just let me go—"

"_Two_..."

"What do you want from me?!"

"_Three_..."

"Just say it, you stupid girl!" Rose snaps, her impatience now glaring.

"Say what?"

"_Four_..."

"_Apologize_!" Emmett fills her in before turning to me. "Sis, come on..."

"I'm s-s..." Lauren stammers.

"—_Five_." With a sharp jerk I break her arm cleanly, as the discernible _crack _of both bones are loudly drowned out by her cries. "God, you're clumsy." I shove her to the pavement, and still cradling her stricken arm, she lands awkwardly to her knees.

"You really need to be more careful in the future," Rose adds.

"Sorry. Hey, I tried to catch you but I wasn't fast enough," Em decides to play along, failing to wipe the grin from his face.

"You're insane! I'll have you arrested!" Lauren screams at me over her shoulder, tears streaming down her face as she continues to clutch her arm close to her chest.

"For tripping and falling over your own feet? Novel," Rose adds, rolling her eyes. "God, I hate high school."

"What's going on here?" Mrs. Cope suddenly demands from behind us, as I release a completely exasperated breath.

"This girl has been threatening to beat up my sister all day," Rose explains, pulling off a perfect rendition of tearful distress complete with shaking hands. "We decided to leave and she followed and attacked her. Bella did nothing but attempt to avoid confrontation, and this girl fell and hurt her arm. Now she's threatening to tell people Bella did it—as if that's even possible. Look how small Bella is compared to her."

Lauren only shakes her head, her mouth opening and closing repeatedly in silent desperation while Rose shoots off a sly smirk discreetly in my direction.

"What was this over?" The admin woman asks after scrutinizing Lauren suspiciously.

"Me," Edward speaks up softly, standing in line with Emmett. I immediately tense, just as Rose reaches out and clasps my hand tightly. "Lauren's been angry at Bella ever since we started dating."

"That's not true!" Lauren cries, on the verge of a tantrum.

"How many people have you told today you were going to beat her up?" he accuses her. "Everyone's been talking about it. I told you it was over between us!" Good god he's an even better actor than Rose, but it changes nothing, and does even less to quell my present hostility for him. He turns his head to meet my gaze, and while his expression remains apologetic, mine hardens into an unforgiving glare.

"Sorry," he mouths before I whip my head away from him.

"Stay calm," Rose cautions me in a whisper, her grip on me tightening.

"Come to the office—all five of you," Mrs. Cope demands, pursing her lips as her narrowed gaze rests darkly on Lauren for an added pause.

With Edward coming forward against Lauren, Acne Perm and Angela soon follow suit, and with no one on Lauren's side, the conclusion is quickly reached. She was the instigator, and I the victim.

Mommy Dearest is promptly called to collect me; something she does with barely veiled frustration.

"Bella," she says tightly, her lips thinning as she jerks her head toward the parking lot "How are you, Edward?"

"Do _not_ speak his name!" I whisper harshly, glaring at her and making her falter, as I pull myself to my feet and leave the office ahead of her.

"What happened now?" I hear her ask Rose, who releases an over exaggerated breath.

"I'll explain later, but go easy on her, and you might want to keep her home for a few days."

We arrive back at the house in silence, but as I'm making my way to my room, Esme, following closely behind, actually attempts to defend him.

"It's only natural that he'd want to find out details about you, sweetheart. Please be reasonable," she appeals to me.

I ignore her, or try to anyway, before slamming my door on her so hard I'm surprised it remains on its hinges.

"Bella..." she taps on it tentatively. "Please. Let's talk."

"I have nothing to say!" I shout in reply, yanking Edward's hoodie from my shoulders and throwing it to the ground. The feel of it against my skin was making it crawl. "Just leave me the hell alone!"

I'm angry. I'm more than angry. I'm irate and usually my first impulse to extinguish it is to feed, but right now it's the furthest thing from my thoughts. I want to kill him. I want to confront him in front of the school and tear his head off and I'm fighting an almost overpowering desire to succumb to it. Even if I can hold off, I'm not sure I can ever tolerate him again knowing what he knows; what he's seen.

I last several hours, and during that time Rose, Esme, Jasper, and even Alice, don't attempt to intervene. I'm left in uninterrupted silence to dwell on my thoughts; a dangerous thing and something that should have made absolutely no sense. The last time I deliberated committing this much bloodshed, Emmett burst into my room and held me down long enough for me to lower my shield so Jasper could work his calming effect on me, but not this time. Perhaps if I stopped to think about it, I'd come to my senses and grow suspicious, but I'm not even remotely in a rational state of mind right now.

I leave at midnight.

His house is still and silent in the darkness; not a single light is on in or around the grounds. It's surrounded by almost as much woods as ours, and is illuminated only by the sparse light of a crescent moon. The white panels glow eerily in the moonlight, and for what's about to transpire I find it entirely too fitting.

I stare up at his bedroom window for a breath or two, my mind already made up. It's opened ajar, and the room beyond is black with no signs of movement. No signs of life.

I plan to kill him in his sleep. For whatever sentimental reason, that I really don't want to analyze, the need to bring him merciful death is overshadowing my anger; my need for vengeance. Only that plan is too quickly shattered when I realize he's awake. As if he were anticipating me.

The moment I pull open his window, he flicks on his nightstand lamp and sits himself upright in bed. And he doesn't appear nearly as surprised as he should.

"Bella...?" By the tenor of his voice, he was recently asleep but it obviously wasn't deep enough to remain.

I stare at him from the other side of the room, holding his gaze steadily, my convictions not swaying. It's him who breaks off first. He lowers his head behind a gushing breath. "I'm so sorry, Bella," he whispers as if he knows his fate and is resigned to it.

"So am I," I reply in a soft voice, because I am. He was almost the one. Almost.

"Are you here to kill me?" he asks, looking up and meeting my eyes squarely; again his are resigned. Defeated.

I nod once. "I am." I take a measured step toward him, but he doesn't recoil or cringe away from me. He remains still in the face of his approaching death.

"I'm glad. I can't stand this...guilt anymore," he adds as though he were pleading with me, while his expression mirrors the evident pain in his voice.

"Guilt?" I ask as I continue my slow approach.

"I can't live with it anymore..." He shakes his head, his eyes welling with tears. "Bella..." he utters my name as his voice fractures and completely breaks.

"You won't have to," I promise him, kneeling on his bed beside him, my hand sliding over his face to cup his cheek. My heart is aching almost physically behind its momentum, but I don't deviate from my course. I'm not sure I could pull out of it now if I wanted to. "Shh...Close your eyes."

A shudder ripples from his chest, and nodding, he complies.

I tilt his head to the side, exposing his external jugular vein, before apprehensively, I press my lips to it. His flesh is warm and he smells as potent as he always has but he's trembling; something he can't hide from me.

"It won't hurt. I won't hurt you," I murmur against his skin, closing my eyes and focusing my senses on the heated river of blood pushing life throughout his body

"I love you, Bella..." he says in barely a whisper, the vibration from his vocal chords echoes along my lips.

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"Shhh..." I placate him, and taking a deep, measured breath, I allow my fangs to elongate.

"I recognized your smile," he continues talking, and while there's a nervous fluidity behind it, there's also acceptance. "It's still the same."

"No, it isn't." I plant my lips to the base of his neck and then again just below his jaw. I'm deliberately drawing it out, prolonging it, and I'm not entirely sure why.

He moves to nod his head, only slightly. "Sometimes, and I'm not sure you realize it, but you have this smile... It's ex-exactly the same," he stammers.

"She's long gone, Edward," I mumble, feeling my brow crease heavily as I attempt to push it from my thoughts. Opening my mouth wider, I allow my fangs to drag along his flesh. I need my focus to remain on my most primordial senses and nothing more.

He groans softly. "Bella?"

"Shh..."

"If you're going to kill me..." he says regardless. "Can I...kiss you...first?"

I immediately hesitate, unsure I heard him correctly before slowly pulling back. "_What_?" I ask in disbelief.

"Can I kiss you?" he repeats his request as his eyes lower subtly to my lips.

I study him for a moment in silence. His face is slightly flushed, his eyes a little too bright even in the dimness of the moonlight, but he's beautiful. A too beautiful human who I have to kill for reasons I can barely reconcile with.

I'm nodding my head before I can find my voice, and wrapping his hand to the curve of my neck and shoulder he leans in, and almost apprehensively, presses his mouth over mine.

While I have fucked humans purely to satisfy my curiosity, I have never kissed one; even when I was one. It's..._nice_. His lips are slightly parted, heated and soft against the coolness of mine, and he leaves them merged with them for no more than three intoxicating seconds until he pulls back.

"Okay..." he whispers behind a demoralized sigh as he squeezes his eyes closed. "It's okay..."

I realize he's giving me permission to kill him.

Leaning closer, I run my nose and lips back along the contours of his neck, allowing his scent to flood me again, to tune back into my most primitive impulses. But I'm stonewalling, and the more I realize it, the more frustrated I can feel myself becoming.

That's when I open my mouth wide and bite him.

Sinking my fangs deep, I sever through his vein with my left canine as a gasp bursts from his throat. His blood, hot and sweet, rushes over my tongue and slides down my throat as the momentum of thirst overtakes me. This is when I feel his arms wrap around me, but it's not to struggle or to fight against me; he's simply holding me against him in complete acceptance.

But something is happening to me. I almost feel as if an unseen current is pulling him from me – pulling _me_ from him. It's as if we're two magnets of opposite poles repelling each other, and the more I fight it, the stronger the buffer becomes until it feels almost tactile.

My head begins to ache, and my throat burns as if it's parched instead of satiated until I begin to feel nauseated. And still he continues to hold me. It's not as if he's being submissive, but an accessory in his own murder. As if he welcomes it.

I grip him tighter, forcing my lips to his flesh to drink longer and deeper, but I'm fighting against my own will, my own body's strength, and I'm losing.

I pull off him with the same force as if I were shoved and look up into his wide, afflicted eyes. My lungs are heaving as if the mere fact of doing what comes naturally to me took an exponential toll on me, and I've taken no more than less than half the standard amount of blood donated. Even still, his blood is pulsating through my veins, warming its way to the surface of my skin and making me feel more alive than I've ever experienced.

"I...I can't..._kill_ you," I utter with as much confusion that's presently overrunning me. "Why can't I kill you?"

He doesn't answer. His eyes drop to my mouth again, but this time it's to gently wipe the remains of his blood from my lower lip with his thumb.

I shake my head in growing frustration and alarm. I'm angry at him; I'm angry enough to kill him, but I simply can't. My own nature has turned against me, all for this one human boy.

"What is it about you?" I demand, but it's not something I expect him to answer when I no more know what it is, than he does. "I can't..."

He shakes his head slightly as if to placate me while his brow begins to knot with concern. "I'm sorry, Bella," he echoes his earlier sentiments. "I-I was a complete asshole. You deserve to kill me."

A sound bursts from me; a sound hedged with as much humor as disbelief. "If only that were possible."

"I was curious..."

"Stop," I mumble, my eyes falling to my knees.

"I just...I think you were still..._beautiful_."

My head snaps up, and as I meet his eyes an almost primeval growl erupts from my throat. "_Beautiful_?—you're a _liar_!" I all but spit fire as anger once again converges on me. I grab him by the throat, forcing him back against his bed as I perch over him like the predator I am. "I was _ugly_!"

He shakes his head desperately, his eyes beseeching as he clamps his hands over mine, and this time, he _is_ fighting. "No..."

"Do _not_ patronize me!" I warn him, squeezing my fingers into his flesh, pressing deeply against the twin arteries in his neck.

"B-Bella..." he strangles out, his voice strained and breathless as I slowly force him into unconsciousness.

I watch in growing horror as his eyes begin to roll back and the whites implode into a maze of broken vessels, but I'm completely detached from the fact that I'm the cause of it. That's when I release him, abruptly and with utter disgust as realization descends on me.

For several moments he struggles, fighting to regain his equilibrium as his breath pulls rushed and ragged from his lips. I detest myself that I could be so cruel and pre-meditated to this human whose only crime was to fall into my trajectory and to smell so appealingly good.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out, wrapping both palms around his neck as if protecting himself from me.

"You're sorry?" I echo my voice devoid of emotion before shaking my head numbly. "I attack you and you're sorry?"

He half laughs, sounding as exhausted as he does ironic. "Yeah..."

"How can you claim to love me when this is what I am? What I do to you?" It's a genuine question, because it makes absolutely no sense.

He opens his mouth to speak, but, clearing his throat roughly, he closes it again and rubs his palm along and beneath his jaw. That's when he visibly winces, and I right along with him.

"Come here," I say in a small voice, tugging him closer. He gazes at me as if he's not sure whether to be fearful of my motives, but I can't focus on it. Biting into my wrist, I squeeze roughly twenty milliliters of my blood into my palm before I rub it meticulously against his already bruising neck.

He only stares at me, his expression broken by as much confusion as I'm feeling. "Bella..." His voice is soft but rustic, and whether it's physical or emotion I'm not sure.

"Lie back," I instruct him.

He does, apprehensively against his pillow.

"Keep your eyes open."

"Bella..." he echoes.

"Shh, just do as I say."

He doesn't argue, and squeezing my fist tightly closed around the blood in my hand, I guide a drop of it into each of his eyes. He immediately flinches in shock and blinks several times, and after releasing him, he slowly sits himself back up.

For the next several moments, he moves his head back and forth, testing its movement and pain threshold while blinking back the blood in his eyes as the maze of vessels steadily clear.

"Feel better?" I ask.

"Wow," he answers in the affirmative, continuing to tilt his head in every angle as a small smile tugs on his lips. "So, it can cure humans too?"

"Yes, but too much and it will turn you."

He pauses and frowns slightly. "Is that...how?"

I nod once, my eyes on my lap. "You would have to drink it or have it transferred directly into your veins."

"Bella..." It's the third time now, and judging by the amount of emotion in his voice, he no doubt wants to apologize again. I can't bear to hear it, though.

"I'm dangerous, Edward," I mumble, cutting him off while steadfastly keeping my gaze averted from his. "Not just because of what I am, but because I was born into this life carrying so much anger I cannot control it."

"What happened to you?" he asks after a long pause as if he were cautioning himself.

"I think you already know."

He clears his throat again, nervously this time. "Do I remind you...of the person..." he doesn't finish, and I look up in time to see shame overrun his expression.

"Physically, no."

"Did he rape you?" His voice falls to barely a whisper as if it pained him to say it.

"No." He tried, though.

He sighs as if he's relieved, and it's wholly subconscious on his part. That much is clear.

"Edward..." I begin when he interjects.

"What does it feel like? To be turned?"

I break into a small smile. "It's like being boiled in oil"—his mouth falls open in horror—"times by a thousand."

"Shit..." he says as his voice cracks.

I nod once, fighting the urge to grin this time.

"How long does it take?"

"It depends on how much blood you've lost prior to the change. I could drain you dry and then replace your blood with mine and it'd be shorter but infinitely more painful."

"Shorter...?"

I pause to consider it. "Perhaps a third of the time."

"How long did yours take?"

"I'm not sure. I was unconscious," I admit as his breath releases from him again, and comprehending his meaning, I elaborate. "I was turned while unconscious so I remained that way until it was finished, but I still felt everything. I just couldn't move. Or scream. I had no idea what was happening. I thought I was in Hell."

"Jesus..." he mumbles more or less to himself.

"Do you really want to be one of us?" I put the question to him, and he nods without hesitation.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I want to be with you," he confessed entirely too earnestly.

"This again..." I mutter. "How could you feel anything for me but hatred?"

He smiles and shakes his head to himself. "I just do."

"You've been bewitched by my face."

He shakes his head a second time and sucks in his cheeks. "Among other things. Bella..."

"What?" I ask cynically. He speaks my name entirely too much, and I'm not sure yet whether it's deliberate or subconscious.

"I really am sorry about today. I knew when I saw that article...it'd hurt you, but..."

"You wanted to hurt me," I finish his sentence.

"No," he frowns to himself like he's suddenly frustrated, "it's just...I felt like you were playing with me."

I release an exasperated breath. "I'm not playing with you. I'm..."

"Testing me?" he jumps in, as my mouth falls open.

"How?—Alice!" I beat him to the punchline.

He flashes me a small rueful smile. "She said you'd do everything to push me away."

"That little rat..." I mutter. "When did she tell you that?" I ask, glancing back up at him after deliberating for a moment on how to get to her without Jasper sabotaging it.

"When your folks...were fixing me up."

"My sister, the matchmaker on crack!" I huff bitterly.

He smiles almost secretively, and then clears his throat sounding nervous again.

"...What?" I ask, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Please don't strangle me again, but I want you to know something."

"_How beautiful I was when I was a human_?" I pre-empt him sarcastically.

He sighs heavily, but relents. "Okay, your ears were"—he reaches out and gently tugs one in emphasis, and I'm surprised I tolerate it. I almost smile along with him, in fact—"and you had a mouth full of metal..."

"And my nose," I add dryly.

He half shakes his head as if to dismiss me. "But there was a light in your eyes and your smile..."

"I have no idea what smile you're referring to," I state a little too impatiently.

His smile broadens and despite almost killing him for the third time, I realize he's at ease around me again. There has to be something wrong with his impulse control. This cannot be normal. "I'm not sure you realize it, but you smile a lot."

"I doubt that."

"Okay." He shrugs a deliberate shoulder, teasing me.

"All right, let me put it to you this way." I pause to gauge his reaction, and when he nods I continue, "If I looked like my human self when you first saw me, would you have winked at me?"

He opens his mouth to answer when he falters, and closing it almost immediately his face clouds. It's all the answer I need.

"Face it, Sonny Jim, you wouldn't have even glanced in my direction." I'm not angry, though, nor am I in denial.

"If I got to know you..." he attempts to salvage it when I scoff brashly.

"I'm not an idiot, Edward."

"Shit..." he says, running his fingers through the front of his hair. "I feel like a bastard."

"Why?"

"It's...shallow..." he mumbles, his eyes lowered as if he's ashamed.

"It's human nature," I counter with an indifferent shrug.

He flashes me a grateful smile. "I know, but still..."

"The beauty about being a vampire is I can choose my mate on personality alone. He'll be beautiful in death no matter what he looks like in life."

He gazes at me for several long seconds, and for a moment I'm certain I've hurt his feelings. Or crushed his pride. "What...will I look like?"

"You"—I place my palm to his cheek and keep his eyes locked to mine—"will be a Rembrandt."

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**A/N: Thanks for reading. You know your poison - review, flame, lurk, flounce. All good.**


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: My daughter's school is flooded, so I'm taking a flex day tomorrow. In other words I'm staying up late to update. I'm nice like that ;)  
Thanks as usual to my bitches, and I hope you enjoy.**

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**Black Swan**

**Chapter 12**

"Are you still going to kill me?" Edward ventures after we fall into an uncharacteristic silence.

I'm not a quiet creature by nature, but I found it wasn't nearly as awkward as I imagined. I smiled, and I only know this because he smiled that very distinct smile he does in response to mine. I have to admit it, he's quite perceptive; I _do_ smile without full realization.

We're still seated on his bed beside each other, and while Edward's now completely relaxed, despite all the horrors I inflicted upon him, he's still overrunning with uncertainty. I don't like it, and I'm beginning to suspect the cocky, overconfident person I met that fateful day in the cafeteria was all a front.

"Of course I'm not going to kill you," I put his fears to rest. "I can't even if I wanted to, apparently," I add almost as an afterthought and entirely to myself as my eyes stray subconsciously from his.

"You wanted to kill me," he murmurs as if he's as equally distracted by his own thoughts.

"Oh, I did," I state truthfully, glancing up and smiling ruefully at him. "My...human life is a very sensitive topic for me." I immediately frown and once again sever his gaze. I've not only said too much to him but I've revealed the very crux behind my vampire nature.

"I'm sorry. It was a real asshole thing to do," he once again professes his remorse. "I should have known better."

"Hm... Well, you're only human," I tease him, huffing out an ironic breath. I might have forgiven him and spared his life, but I'm still far from okay about it.

His smile turns broad until it inevitably falls. "Can I ask you something?"

"That depends on what it is."

"In the future, can you feed only from me?"

There's such an innocence about him that was lost on me until tonight. A lot of it has to do with his age, but it's becoming obvious that the majority of it is environmental. He is a definite product of circumstance; one I'm yet to work out.

I regard him for a moment, smirking subtly to myself. I suspect a bulk of his desire is from a misguided sense of chivalry, but it could also be from possessiveness. I've forgotten how complex, and completely frustrating, human emotions can be. "I require roughly two thirds of the volume of your blood no less than every two weeks. It would kill you."

"Oh..." He's not happy about it.

I further tilt my head to scrutinize him. "You do realize it's my food source. There is nothing sexual about it. Am I supposed to envy the cow you eat for dinner?"

"I know, but..." There's an edge to his voice; I've offended him as equally as he sounds frustrated.

"But...?"

"Can it be...sexual?" Blood immediately rushes to the surface of his face making him even more appealing than he otherwise is.

"Anything can be sexual," I reply simply, but I'm not entirely comfortable with the direction this conversation is heading in.

"You need to feed to be warm, right?" It's not really a question, and I pause gauging him for a moment suspiciously.

"I don't feed to become warm. It's simply an after effect," I set him straight. My body temperature will adopt that of a human's after feeding. Until the human blood in my system is metabolized at least, but it can last up to a couple of hours.

"Bella..." He's nervous, and his face is beginning to flush a deep scarlet. "Are you able to have...sex?"

"_What_?" I snap, and as if on reflex, he jerks back from me. I don't like it, but my present agitation is currently overriding any feelings I have on it. "Are you honestly suggesting that we have sex?"

"I wouldn't...mind it." He swallows thickly, but I have to credit his audacity considering what I very nearly did to him tonight. Even still, I'm not sure whether he's reckless or just really stupid. Both is likely.

"Of course, you wouldn't," I reply, laughing dryly. "You are a little more than a bone bag of sexual impulses."

"I've seen it in Rosalie's mind, and Emmett's..." he attempts to somehow contradict me.

"I never said we can't!" I break in, becoming impatient again.

"Have you?" he asks brazenly, meeting my glare head on and holding his ground this time.

"With another vampire, no, but with humans? Dozens." I jerk a shoulder, deciding to be honest, just as his mouth falls open in shock.

"_What_?" he utters out practically without sound.

"I died a virgin, I wasn't about to live out eternity as one," I reply sarcastically.

"Holy shit..." he mumbles, breaking his eyes from mine as if to deliberate it.

"Are you surprised?" I almost smile. I can't help it; his shock is comical.

"Yeah," he states truthfully. "You said you hate humans."

"_Some_ humans."

"But you had sex..."

"It was sex, not love-making," I clarify, rolling my eyes, "and for the most part, it was to satisfy my curiosity. I killed them all after."

He stares at me for a long moment as if to find contradiction in my statement. "Jesus Christ..."

"You're comparing me to my family, Edward, but compared to your average, cold blooded vampire, I'm quite..._morally conservative_," I choose my words carefully with a small, indiscreet smile.

"What about Jane the Virgin?" He almost smiles along with me but it's obvious his present shock is preventing it.

"I've known her for sixty-five years and up until recently I never realized she's a lesbian. At least, I think she is..."

"A..._lesbian_?" Edward's eyes widen in disbelief. "But she's so...pretty."

I roll my eyes blatantly. "What a stupid thing to say, and we're _all_ _pretty_—unless you've forgotten."

"Yeah..." he mumbles sheepishly, running his palm to the back of his neck before dragging his fingers forward through his hair making it even more wayward than it normally is. "Sorry."

"Stop feeling the need to apologize. I told you, I'm not going to kill you."

"Tell me more about Jane," he urges me, his expression relaxing.

"Why?" I ask, narrowing my eyes dubiously.

"She talks to me a lot on Facebook, but she doesn't mention anything about herself," he admits.

"She's spent twelve hundred years surrounded by mostly male vampires. I think she just wants to start a matriarchal coven."

"_Twelve hundred years_?" he echoes in a whisper as if he heard incorrectly.

I nod.

"How old is your father?"

"Four hundred—not quite," I amend.

"Wow..." His eyes draw to the ceiling momentarily before resting back on mine. "And you're the youngest."

"In my family, yes."

"When were you created?" he asks, his voice softening cautiously this time.

"1952," I answer without pause.

He seems almost surprised before he obviously makes the calculations in his head. "So you're..._eighty-five_?"

I shake my head. "Technically, yes, but I don't see it that way. I've been seventeen for almost sixty-eight years."

He nods, sucking in those cheeks of his thoughtfully. "Can I ask another question?" he braves.

"It hasn't stopped you before," I say with another subconscious smile, just as his brings it to my attention.

"Can vampires...get pregnant?"

My smile quickly fades. That wasn't a question I was expecting. "No. We don't function exactly the same as humans."

"So I couldn't..."

"That's assuming I would even allow it!" I pre-empt him, my tone stiffening. "Are you capable of any other thought?"

He shakes his head hastily, his expression smoothing out in alarm. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just wondering whether you're sorry you didn't get a chance to..." he doesn't elaborate, and I release a heavy sigh, fighting to prevent it from becoming a groan.

"No, I don't. We aren't maternal in the sense that humans are. I probably long to be pregnant less than you do."

His smile is so self–conscious it's not believable that his concern for my _lost motherhood _is the motivating factor behind his line of questioning.

Shaking my head, I push it from my thoughts and give him the bare facts. "There's absolutely no chance any human—or vampire—could knock me up. I am frozen to the age I was created and my body is no longer governed by human biology."

He studies me for a moment as if processing the information I've given him. "How did it all start?"

I shrug both shoulders slowly and with as much contemplation. "We've been around for as long as there's been humans, but our origins are subject to the same theories as yours. Did we evolve from another type of humanoid, or were we the mastermind of an all-knowing god? Perhaps we're aliens. Your guess is as good as mine."

"But...why do you hide?"

I scoff. "Humans will willfully destroy the planet over religion or ideology, imagine if they discovered a race of beings higher up on the food chain than them?" I raise my brows to emphasize it and he nods in agreement.

"So, you just want to live in peace?" There's irony behind his voice and it's not lost on me.

I only return his smile and partially nod my head.

"Can a male vampire get a human pregnant?" He veers back to the subject that I suspect is to keep it around sex.

I pause, eyeing him for a period. "Can a human impregnate an ape?"

His brow furrows. "Are you comparing us to apes?"

"It was an example," I answer dryly. "We share ninety-nine percent of our DNA with humans, mostly because we came from them, but like humans and chimpanzees—for example—our DNA is grouped differently in our chromosomes. Our individual genes also differ so greatly from humans that it makes interbreeding impossible."

He nods his head slowly even as his brow remains knotted in obvious confusion. "Yeah..."

"I think you watch too many movies," I tease him and he breaks into a quick grin this time.

"Probably."

"Okay, no more questions," I decide on the spot, holding my hand out to him; he takes it easily. "Let's get out of here."

"It's three am," he questions.

"Are you tired?" I put to him, quirking a brow.

His knots in return as if it's only just occurred to him that he isn't. "No..."

"You probably won't sleep for a couple of days," I warn him, and standing up, I pull him off his bed with me.

"Just from a drop of your blood in my eyes?" he asks in obvious awe.

"Yep."

"That's...amazing. Will you do it to me every night?" He looks like a little boy asking for more cookies, and I almost laugh; I can't help it.

"Sure."

"Awesome!" He breaks into a broad, cheesy grin that I very nearly reciprocate.

"Come on..." Pulling myself through his moderately-sized window, I drop soundlessly to the darkened, damp ground below.

"How do you expect me to get down?" he asks, attempting to keep his voice hushed as he leans out over the sill.

"I'll catch you."

"...What?" He sounds unconvinced. "I could hurt you."

"Oh my God."

"What if you...drop me?" He goes with another angle.

"Are you serious?" I'm beginning to think he's afraid of heights; as if any human could be afraid of twenty feet of air. "Hurry up." I hold my arms out in encouragement.

He mumbles something beneath his breath—that I make out as "Jesus"—as he climbs awkwardly onto the frame. He's holding a pair of shoes, I quickly realize; something he drops down to me a moment later. He's also thrown a wrinkled grey sweater over his head.

"One...two..."

"Just...hang on a moment." He stalls, his green eyes widening apprehensively.

"If you think it'd help, close your eyes," I suggest.

"You're..._tiny_..." he once more attempts to explain away his caution.

"This again?"

"Okay!" He's frustrated this time, but it's not hard to guess why. He doesn't like looking like such a coward in front of me. Even in their teens, male pride dictates most of their actions.

After stonewalling himself for a further half a minute, he eventually pulls himself off the ledge and allows himself to fall.

I catch him easily, scooping his legs out from under him. They're so long that if I caught him in a vertical position his feet would have hit the ground first.

"That is so fucked up," he mutters, pulling himself clumsily from my arms.

"What is? That I'm stronger than you?" I ask, bemused.

"No," he says lowly, dropping his gaze to the ground. "I mean—I don't know." Without another word, he crouches down, yanks both sneakers over his bare feet before once again pulling himself to his full height. "Where are we going?"

"Follow me," I instruct him, holding up my hand revealing his car keys as I head in the direction it's parked.

"What? When did you get those?" he blurts, but he follows nonetheless.

I sigh very pointedly. "Seriously, Edward, you're like a five year-old. _When this, how that, why, why, why_."

I hear his breath huff from his nose behind me; he's none too impressed by my statement. "You're really condescending, you know that?"

"Yep." Unlocking his car, I open the passenger side door for him.

"Do you have a car?" he asks, and by the tone of his voice, his pride has taken a hit again.

"Why would I?" I reply, sliding myself behind the wheel and moving the seat forward. "Buckle up, red canary." I turn to him and wink.

"Funny," he replies dryly, referring to his still-broken seat belt, even as his lips twitch with the obvious urge to smile.

Turning the key in the ignition, the engine starts smoothly before I pull out down the long driveway away from his parent's house.

I drive aimlessly, without direction or purpose; I simply drive. I do double the speed limit, though, but after a couple of minutes, Edward grows accustomed to it and relaxes into the seat beside me.

His scent is again amplified in the enclosed cabin of his car, but I enjoy its fragrance from the context as it were expensive, French perfume. I don't lust for it on the same stratum anymore, and it no longer threatens my self-control. I'm not sure which came first, but my emotions surrounding it have become skewered. It's almost like the finest brand of aged malt whiskey to an addictive alcoholic. In the short term, it will give me total and complete euphoria, all the while knowing it will eventually affect me to such an extent I will lose my very identity. I will hate myself, and the drug I once loved to occasionally indulge in because I love that damn drug more than I love its effects on me.

Therein lies the paradox.

"Bella..." Edward breaks the lingering silence that falls between us.

"Hmm?" I reply without turning my eyes from the wet stretch of road before us.

"What...effects is your blood supposed to have on me?" he asks through a noticeably restricted throat; his tone low in its wake.

I turn to glace at him; his forest green eyes are glistening with over-animation and he appears to be breaking into a sweat.

Smiling faintly to myself, I turn back to the road. "It will heighten your senses."

"Oh, God—Jesus." He suddenly groans languidly into the small space. "Bella..." His breathing is becoming shallow and there's a discernible grit to his voice. I glance at him again. He's turning to stone before my eyes. "You don't...by any chance...take Viagra, do you?" He takes a gasping breath and then reins it back in, fighting to keep himself together.

I almost laugh, and open my mouth to reply before closing it again in further consideration. I expected some type of side effect, but to this degree?

What if the reaction he's having to my blood is the human equivalent of what his does to me?

"Can you please...pull over?" he pleads, the pain becoming palpable behind his voice. "I'm gonna c-come. Or puke—or fucking die!"

His blood is all but boiling, and his accelerated warmth is beginning to change the atmosphere inside the car. It's so tangible it washes over me almost like sea mist as it permeates with my pores.

I can feel the rising temperature of his blood as intently as I can hear it throb through differing surface arteries along his body. His temples, his jugular; his wrists; his groin...

The moment I pull over on a small elbow of road adjacent Sequim Bay, Edward frantically kicks open his door, but he doesn't move. He appears suspended in shock; his hands frozen in mid-air; his breath bated.

"What's the matter?" I demand with increasing concern. The vein at his temple has tripled in size and is bulging alarmingly.

"I can't...do this...in f-front of...you," he strangles out, squeezing his eyes closed against the staggering arousal I can practically taste in the air between us. He's struggling to breathe, and not only are his hands beginning to shake uncontrollably but his entire body.

"Do you want me to help you out?" I ask lightly, breaking into a small smile.

He turns his head and there's surprise and curiosity mixed with the burning need behind his eyes.

"Actually..." I hesitate with a frown.

"What?"

I place the back of my fingers to his cheek bone in explanation. "Feel my skin."

"It's...cold again."

"It's cold..."

"I don't care!" he bursts, shaking his head jerkily in obvious frustration.

"Have you ever tried to jerk off in a cold shower?" I point out the obvious.

"I...shit," he mutters.

"Yes."

"You...can f-feed from me a-again..." he offers, stuttering.

"If I do, it'll make you feel faint."

His head shakes again, his brow heavily knotting. "Bella..._please_..."

"Good God..." I say with sigh. Taking his tightly clenched hand, I bring his wrist to my mouth. I'm less likely to take as much blood from his radial artery than his carotid in his neck. Closing my eyes, I inhale, drawing his scent deep within my lungs to once again awaken the predator.

My canines extract and I sink them into his flesh, slicing through the peak of his Palmar vein. A reflexive sound bursts from him. I hurt him, but I make it quick, taking only the bare minimum before I release him.

"Bella..." he mumbles, his eyes closed, but I'm not sure what context his emotions are portraying. I'm beginning to suspect he's no longer coherent

"Give it a moment," I reply softly, my gaze dropping to his navy blue Nike track pants and the discernible bulge behind them. The day I met him, I grabbed him simply to mock his size, but the reality is there was nothing to ridicule. While he's not humungous, he's by no means small.

Clumsily, he raises his still bleeding hand and places it against my cheek. "You're warmer...already."

"We're not having sex—get that straight right now," I emphatically state, and opening his eyes, he nods.

"Okay. What...what are you going..." he abandons it as I slip my now heated fingers behind the waistband of his pants and into his underwear.

I pull that organ of his free of its restraints, being conscious to be as gentle as possible, but the moment I make the slightest contact, Edward almost lurches out of the seat as if he received an electrical shock. He groans loudly, his eyes squeezing shut again as he attempts to anchor himself.

For a moment I pause, glancing down at the basis of his manhood. I now know why he's in so much pain; it's engorged with so much blood it's almost purple. I'll have to be careful or I could seriously injure him, but I've never attempted to do this in all my existence; to give another human pleasure.

"Bella, can..." he strangles out.

"No," I pre-empt him because it's not exactly hard to guess what's going through his mind.

"Why?"

"I'm not getting that in my mouth."

"You can...spit it out."

"I will vomit."

"Is...that even possible?" he asks dubiously.

"Very possible," I assure him. "I'm doing this to end your misery, not to get you off, so stop pushing."

He nods his head inevitably, as if the prospect of the vampire he claims to love giving him a thorough hand job is a disappointment. I'm forced to remind myself again that he's male and ruled by his urges and impulses that come straight from the hot, rigid organ I'm holding in my hand.

I go slowly, my fingers around the base and my thumb to the tip, but judging by Edward's very audible reaction, I'm not sure whether I'm giving him any kind of relief or causing him more pain. I'm certain it's an amalgamation of both and I kind of feel sorry for the guy.

He alternates between low guttural moaning, and breathless whimpering with his eyes squeezed closed and his brow heavily contorted. It's genuinely pitiful and taking a lot longer than I anticipated. After twenty minutes, he's no closer to release than at the beginning and I'm getting frustrated. He could be like this all night, and I can't allow the poor schmuck to end up with some kind of erectile dysfunction because of my blood.

"Okay," I sigh, grabbing a handful of the front of his damp, sweaty hair and pulling his chin from his chest to meet his eyes. "I'm going to have to drain the blood."

"_WHAT_?!" he bursts, his eyes widening in horror.

"Or, we can go to the ER to have it done. I'm pretty sure my father's on duty tonight." He's shaking his head adamantly before I can finish.

"Will it work?" he asks, his voice hopelessly coarse and raspy.

I nod simply. "It'll work."

"Okay..." He closes his eyes again and allows his head to slump to the rest. "Just do it..."

There's just one problem, though. I fed from him tonight on an already full stomach, and I'm so glutted I'm having trouble releasing my fangs. There are only two things that will bring them out, blood naturally is the first, and being sexually aroused is the second. Usually the two are synonymous, but I've grown so accustomed to being without a mate, I've learned to suppress it.

Realizing what I have to do, and groaning past the complete exasperation I'm feeling, I slide my palm to the back of Edward's neck, pull his head to me, and kiss him.

"What...are you doing?" he mumbles his confusion against my lips.

"What does it look like?" I pull back and put to him with a huff. "Stop talking and kiss me—and if you don't want your tongue sliced open by my fangs keep it out of my mouth!"

Nodding his head almost drunkenly, he immediately complies, and while he has no idea why, he unwittingly helps me reach my objective. I don't kiss humans as a rule and I genuinely have no idea what I'm doing. I have no alternative but to follow his lead because it's becoming increasingly obvious that he does.

His hand slips to my face, his long fingers inching into my hair as he moves his mouth with mine in a way that I wouldn't have believed could be so seductive if I wasn't experiencing it for myself. His lips are hot, his breath behind them restricted, but they're dancing the tango with mine and I'm beginning to wholly lose myself in the sensation of it.

My fangs release slowly, practically without my knowledge, and once I'm aware of them, I sever from his mouth flustered and slightly disorientated to focus on the task at hand. He's no more deflated than he was after my failed attempt to help jerk him off.

Sighing beneath my breath, I close my eyes and allow the scent of him to fill my nostrils. Boys are sweeter from the groin, and I have to remind myself not to get too carried away.

Bending down and leaning my elbows against his thighs, I enclose my mouth over the burning hot length of him and slice into his bulging dorsal vein.

He jumps violently in his skin as an almighty roar erupts from him. It's a cry so loud it's almost deafening even to my ears, and I very nearly react just as physically.

"No, no, no—Jesus fucking Christ! Bella—please s-stop!" he begs me desperately, tangling his hands into my hair, and I'm not sure whether it's to steady himself or push me away.

I don't budge; I can't. The compassionate thing to do is draw the blood as quickly as possible if I want to put him out of his agony. He's tense—so tense his body locks up in such a way he begins to tremble, but he's slowly beginning to soften against my lips until he's completely flaccid again.

"Congratulations, it's a boy," I say lightly after sitting up beside him and sucking the remains of his blood from my bottom lip.

A boy indeed, and he certainly tasted divine from that point of entry.

He's gasping, his eyes wide with shock; his face pale and glistening in sweat. With shaking hands, he slowly covers his stricken anatomy and draws his knees toward his chest. "Jesus Christ..." he utters before slowly turning his head to meet my gaze. "I'm never...d-drinking..." he stammers, sounding barely lucid, and in the next instant, his eyes roll back in his head and he passes out cold.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, I know. lol! **


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thanks, Kim, for editing, and Melinda and Leigh for pre-preading.**  
**Hope you enjoy.**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 13**

It's not quite five when we return, and the first rays of sunrise are just beginning to peek over the horizon. Edward's parents are also not yet up and beginning their day.

December weather is frigid and while it has absolutely no effect on me, I have to keep reminding myself that it could be detrimental to Edward. Humans, even in this day and age, can still develop pneumonia and die.

"Okay," I say with an inevitable breath after walking him to his front porch. He might not be a child of the 50s, but I most certainly am, and I feel dreadful over what I've put him through. "Since I nearly tortured you to death tonight, I'm going to grant you one request."

He has both hands buried deep in the pockets of his track pants, and raising them with his shoulders he breaks into a small smile. He's still pale and there's a shocked element to the hue of his eyes, but he bounced back rather quickly. Though, I did make sure to ply him with as much sugar and fluid as possible after. "Request?" he echoes, appearing to reflect on it. "Meaning...?" His brows arch.

"Whatever you ask, I'll grant."

"Okay, turn me—"

"Except that," I immediately cut him off. "No one in their right mind would make that decision on a whim."

"I haven't made it on a whim..." he attempts to argue like the typical teenager he is; like I often am.

"The answer's still no, now hurry up and tell me what you want before I change my mind."

"Okay," he mumbles, releasing a hand from his pants to rub his chin thoughtfully.

"Think very carefully before you ask me for sex, bucko," I warn him because it's not exactly hard to guess the thought process behind his often shrewd eyes.

His rueful grin all but gives him away. Until it falls. "Bella..." his voice turns serious. "About Lauren..."

"I don't want to know," I interject, but I'm not being exactly truthful. I do want to know; I just don't want to risk putting his life in danger again.

"But...I want you to know." he admits regardless.

"Why?" I ask, filling with confusion. Does he want me to get angry at him?

"Because...I just do," he mumbles, dropping his head and scratching the back of it.

"Do I need to know?"

He nods stoically even as his eyes remain fused to the porch beneath his feet.

"Okay," I say with a sigh. "What is it?"

"She...lets me get rough with her," he looks up slowly and confesses almost ashamedly.

"Rough...?" I ask uncertain of his meaning, and he nods again.

"I was angry—mostly at myself. Actually...all of it was at myself, and it was"—reaching up, he rubs his brow with stiff, rigid fingers, closing his eyes momentarily against it—"building up inside me. She let me...release it, I guess, and it was kind of like therapy for me."

I cross my arms over my chest and give it thought. "This has to do with why you were sent to juvenile detention, am I right?"

He nods almost reluctantly this time as his forehead knots further. "Yeah," he replies quietly.

"I don't want to know—not yet, anyway," I decide on the spot because my relationship with him is still too precarious. All I'm really aware of right now is I don't want him to die; something that wouldn't be compatible if I find out he did something unforgivable.

"Okay." There's relief in his voice, and when he meets my eyes, it's reflecting in his and behind his smile. "Lauren never meant anything to me," he adds in conclusion.

I nod in acceptance. "All right, but just so you know, if you fuck her again, I'll break your neck."

His smile turns to an immediate grin. "Because I belong to you, right?"

I shrug a shoulder simply. "If you want to."

"I do want to," he answers without hesitation.

"Do you realize what that will entail?" The question is rhetorical from my end because he has absolutely no concept of what he'll be giving up.

"No." He almost falters and perhaps he is somewhat aware. I am beginning to think I'm continuously underestimating him.

"You will have to live with me, and I will essentially be in charge of you." My reply is sugar-coated; something I suspect he understands.

"So...I'd be like your s-slave," he stammers, and good god he really is adorable.

"If that's what I wanted, but you're lucky I don't," I say, fighting to hold off my smile in response.

He nods his head slowly when it's evident he's still confused.

I sigh heavily. "I will have to register you soon, Edward. There's rules."

"_Rules_?" he repeats, his head tilting.

"A vampire has to register a human within six months of revealing themselves. It's a contract we'll both have to sign. You have to swear to secrecy."

"...And if I break it...?" It's obvious he already knows the answer, but I give it to him regardless.

"If I don't kill you, they will."

"_They_?" His voice cracks.

"The Volturi. It's the oldest coven that's ever existed and they keep the laws. Jane's creator, Aro, heads it. He's fair, but you don't want to get on the wrong side of him."

He nods his head slower this time, his thoughts obviously straying. "I won't tell anyone."

"I know, but we still have to submit it for Aro to approve."

"Will he...reject it?" And by his expression, he's concerned by the prospect of it.

"No. I don't recall a time he ever has."

He expels his breath and smiles again. "Then, I'll sign it."

"What colleges did you apply for?"

"Um..." He clears his throat awkwardly. "Dartmouth, Cornell, Brown, Columbia..." he mutters, his face darkening, making it more than obvious that he's none too impressed with going Ivy League.

Strange boy.

"Where do you _want_ to go?" I ask the obvious question.

"NYU."

"Does Daddy know about that?" I raise my brows in emphasis, and he grins sheepishly.

"What do you think?"

"Okay, well whatever college you accept, we'll move close to. You won't be allowed to dorm away from me. I have to keep you under close watch," I explain, and sucking in his cheeks thoughtfully, he nods.

"Okay. Bella...?"

"Yes."

"Did you always plan on keeping me as your...?" he doesn't finish, and it's obvious it's uncomfortable for him.

"No," I answer truthfully.

"But you revealed yourself to me the first day."

"I was planning on killing you." Again, I'm truthful, but he's already aware of it, and in reply, an almost ironic smile tugs at his lips.

"That's right—as if I could forget."

"You won't be my pet," I state because it needs to be said.

"What...will I be...?" he asks with uncertainty.

"My companion."

His grin this time returns slowly to his face. "I like that."

"Your request?" I remind him, when I suspect he was attempting to charm me.

"Hmm..." he gives it thought for several seconds. "Okay..." he decides, his eyes burning with decision.

"What?" I ask cynically.

"I want you to kiss me at least once a day." He smiles and it's a tad too smug.

"Once a day?" I repeat, my eyes narrowing.

"Once a day."

"Fine." I relent with a sigh; it could have been worse.

"Starting now."

"What?"

"It starts now," he repeats himself, fighting the obvious urge to grin again.

I roll my eyes; it's not hard to discern his motives. "Don't make me regret this."

"I won't." His voice softens as he subtly leans toward me, and meeting him half way, I stretch on my toes as his lips connect to mine. They're as equally soft but lacking a lot of their warmth from earlier tonight; he's still recovering from the blood I took, I realize, but his actions don't exactly parallel it.

His mouth opens a fraction and he tugs me against him attempting to deepen it, that's when I grab two fistfuls of his hoodie and force him back. "I agreed to kiss you—_not_ make out with you."

"Yeah," he mumbles, running a hand to the back of his head again as he severs my gaze.

His cheeks are flushing, and I huff out my absolute aversion over how little aversion there actually is. "Okay, I should go."

"I'm still not tired," he adds quickly as an obvious effort to continue the conversation.

"You do realize I'll see you at school, right?"

"Yeah." He blushes again, and this time I'm forced to close my eyes as an offensive measure.

"You can sit—" I begin when he interjects.

"Hey?"

"What?" I sigh.

"How'd you break Lauren's arm?"

I quirk a dubious brow and gauge him for a moment. "Would you like for me to show you?"

He opens his mouth to reply when, as if realizing his error, he laughs with obvious self-consciousness. "Sorry, I keep forgetting."

"I tried to kill you tonight and you keep forgetting?" I state in disbelief. "Are you in control of your faculties?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?"

"You keep making me wonder."

"It's just, you're soft and small..."

"And a vampire..." I finish for him.

"Okay, yeah. I'm an idiot. Maybe I _am_ tired..." He runs his palm down his face, and while he appears exhausted, I know it's not from lack of sleep.

"You're not an idiot," I concede, my voice softening. "And...I'm sorry about tonight," I murmur in apology; a definitive first for me.

"For...trying to kill me, or almost biting off my dick?"

"I did _not_—I knew _exactly_ what I was doing!" I retort indignantly when I realize he's only teasing me; his soft laughter cements it.

"You kinda are like a teenager sometimes."

"_Thank you_," I say sarcastically.

"Hey!" he jumps in again when I turn to leave.

"What...?" I reply in monotone and with growing exasperation.

"When will I have to move in with you?"

"Soon," I answer in a small voice, my gaze dropping to my feet. He's unaware of the full extent to which he'll be signing his life away, and I'm not sure how to prepare him.

"What will I tell my folks?" he wonders out loud.

"Carlisle will come up with something."

"I could say I knocked you up—"

"Um—_what_?" I snap, unimpressed with his line of thinking.

He shrugs a shoulder. "If I did, I wouldn't run from my responsibilities. My parents know that, too."

"That's not happening."

"Just a suggestion..." His fists ram back into his pockets and he sucks in his cheeks; his mind obviously drifting.

"You have a one-track mind," I accuse him, and he breaks into an indiscreet smirk, all but sealing his guilt.

"Sorry," he replies, when it's the furthest thing from the truth.

"You'll be the death of me," I mutter, expelling a weary breath and pressing my fingertips against my brow.

"So...you're going to be nice to me from now on, right?" he asks when a lapse of silence falls over us.

"Yes, I'm going to be _nice _to you."

He clears his throat deliberately. "Being patronizing is not the definition of _nice_."

"You sound like my mother," I say dryly, scrutinizing him.

His grin this time is toothy; he's smiling an awful lot for someone who came infinitely close to death twice in one night. "Can I tell people you're my girlfriend?"

I almost choke. I'm not sure whether he has more confidence than he has audacity right now, and I'm beginning to realize he's multifaceted. At times he oozes with self-assurance and other times it's the last thing he is. It makes me wonder about him; too much. "_People_ already think it. Now stop pestering me. Go inside."

"Okay," he relents as his voice softens. "See ya, Bella."

"Goodbye." I say casually, turning my back on him and breaking into a run. I almost loathe to admit it, but he's right about me; I do smile without realizing it. I'm smiling right now.

**. . .**

Heading straight home, I walk into the house and the reaction I receive is mostly indifferent, as if I weren't in fact gone all night.

Carlisle's hasn't left for work, and Esme is ironing him a shirt in the family room.

His eyes meet mine as I pass him, and he flashes me a warm smile. "Bella."

"Carlisle," I reciprocate, only to hesitate and stop reluctantly before him. "Can we talk?"

He turns to fully face me, his expression curious but remaining sedate. "Of course."

"Everyone should...be here," I add, my eyes dropping awkwardly to the floor.

"That's fine," he replies, just as Alice slides down the banister, arriving in the room as if she were a six-year-old.

"Hey, Bella," she greets me with a little too much animation.

"Alice, can you get your brother, sister and Jasper?" Carlisle asks her, running his navy blue tie beneath the collar of his freshly ironed shirt.

"Sure," she says, leaving again in a flash.

We assemble at the dining table shortly after as all six pairs of aurous eyes rest on me curiously. Esme looks suspiciously happy, and I'm not convinced that Alice hasn't somehow got around my shield and filled everyone in.

"I'm...going to register him," I speak up in a low murmur, staring at the surface of the table for several minutes trying furtively to talk myself out of it. I'm immediately met with silence, and when I raise my head to brave their response, I stall.

Esme's face is radiating with happiness, Carlisle looks suspiciously relieved, Rose is smirking, while Alice appears conveniently unsurprised. The boys are nonplussed; in fact, Emmett shrugs his shoulder in non-committal validation.

"Cool," he mumbles lightly when Carlisle interjects.

"Bella..." he pauses to release a weary-sounding breath as if I'm the bane of his existence. "Is Edward in agreement?"

I nod once, my eyes lowering again.

"Does he know what he's getting himself in for, I think he means." Emmett practically snickers.

I scoff in irony. "How could he possibly know?" It's not a question.

"Have you told him about any of the conditions?" Carlisle continues, his expression growing more somber by the minute.

"I've only told him he'll have to live with us," I admit, jerking an irritable shoulder. I'm not sure he'll be in complete agreement when he realizes the full context of what living with a coven of vampires will entail.

"Do you plan on turning him, Sweetheart?" Mommy Dearest asks the question I'm sure they're all thinking.

"I haven't made up my mind—if he can make it to twenty-one without me killing him," I answer ruefully.

"Then that's a _no_, even though her little human looks at her likes she's _the sun and the moon_." Rose snorts, and in turn I scowl at her.

"I think it's best if we sit down and talk with him first," Carlisle decides, his eyes trained to mine seriously. "Are you sure this is what you want to do, Bella?"

"I'm sure," I answer in a quiet voice.

"You do understand your father and I will have our own conditions." Esme raises a deliberate brow, making her position on it clear: no pets in her house.

"As if I could forget," I state petulantly, before I'm forced to concede. "I have no intention of making him my pet."

"What will he be?" she presses, unconvinced.

"Her _boyfriend_," Emmett jumps the gun, and kicking his leg under the table, I correct him.

"My _companion_."

"What kind of companion?" Esme asks, clearly not satisfied.

"None of your business!" I snap.

"We all have to agree," she reminds me, her brow arching further.

"You're going to say _no_?" I call her bluff, and as expected, she_ harrumphs_ begrudgingly beneath her breath and turns to Carlisle.

"Bring him over this afternoon, Bella," he instructs, pulling himself from the table. "We'll reconvene then."

**. . .**

"Yesterday you wanted to kill him, and today you're shacking up with him," Rose teases me as we exit her car in the school parking lot to the low rumbling thunder of an approaching storm.

"I tried killing him. I _couldn't_," I admit, remaining troubled by it. I literally couldn't, and it still doesn't make an ounce of sense. Except now, I don't want him dead and Alice is right; had I killed him, I would have regretted it for the rest of my days.

"_Tried_..." Rose scoffs. "Oh God, here he comes. What a good little puppy."

I swiftly elbow her and turn in time to see Edward making his way over; his smile spread broad across his face. I really don't appreciate Rose's sentiments, but at the same time, I know she's not serious; even if she'd never admit to growing as attached to him as Emmett has.

"Hey," Edward greets me, immediately wrapping his arm around my shoulders and turning me in the direction of the school's entrance. "C'mon, it's about to rain."

"What are you doing?" I put to him as he continues to hurry me along.

"Getting you out of the rain," he answers, confused by my question.

"You believe I'll catch a cold?" I tease him, only my voice has already lost its usual edge. Rose has noticed, Emmett too, and I don't miss the pointed glance they share.

"I didn't realize you were so chivalrous, Edward," Rose pipes up.

"Ignore her," I warn him, turning to shoot her a threatening glare.

"You gave him your blood, didn't you?" she outs me covertly against my ear.

"Just a bit," I reply to the affirmative.

"Nice..." Emmett adds after overhearing, a shrewd grin twitching on his lips. "Make you horny, Ed?"

"_Huh_?" Edward asks blankly, before obviously shoving it from his thoughts and turning to face me. "So, what's happening?"

"About...?" I ask, shrugging his arm from me after we enter the hall.

He immediately returns it, tightening it around my back. "About what you told me this morning."

"Carlisle wants to speak to you," I answer after expelling an almost subconscious breath.

His expression slowly etches with uncertainty. "...What about?"

"About whether you know what you're in for," Emmett interjects, chuckling to himself.

"Rose!" I snap, past patience. "Will you take him away?"

"Sorry." Emmett laughs.

"Later, bitch," Rose says, amusement laced in her tone as she drags the great lug down the hall toward their homeroom.

"What did Emmett mean?" Edward asks with a frown, a hand running to the back of his neck.

I sigh shortly and drop my forehead momentarily into my palm. "There's conditions, Edward—_strict_ conditions. You'll have to agree to them before you move in."

Shoving his free hand in his jeans, he shrugs. "I told you, I won't tell anyone."

"It's not only that..." I mumble, releasing my breath a third time to stare at the floor. I feel culpable. By exposing myself to him, I have essentially condemned him to our world whether he's willing or not.

"What is it?" he asks after a pause, the tenor of his voice falling.

I turn and stare into his eyes—eyes that do nothing to betray his youth—and for the first time in my existence I want to cry for him; for a human. While he'll be given the choice, it's an illusion; he has no choice. He'll have to live with us or Aro will have him killed. "I can't tell you here. Just wait until this afternoon."

He nods, sucking in his cheeks as he does as his eyes stray down the hall absently. "Is it bad?" he ventures.

When his gaze snaps back to mine, I nod. "I'm a vampire, Edward. What are you expecting?"

"Just so long as I can be with you," he declares entirely too earnestly.

I break into a completely humorless laugh. "You'll be the death of me," I mutter, removing his arm from around me and making my way toward my locker.

"I'll see you at lunch," he calls from behind me, and in response, I raise my hand without turning back.

Naturally, word has already spread over my run-in with Lauren, and Acne Frizz is only too eager for all the details.

"Nothing happened. She fell over. I had no idea the girl was so clumsy," I reply irritated by her inquisition.

"She broke her arm," she informs me as if I didn't already know, her eyes widening maniacally.

"No kidding?" I play along, and when she nods, I laugh lightly. "Wow, poor girl seriously needs calcium in her diet."

"She says Rose tripped her over," she lays the bait; bait I'm not about to take.

"Oh, yeah..." I shrug a deliberately disinterested shoulder. "By the way," I tilt my head slightly toward her, "I really am a black belt." Straightening back out, I open my worn copy of Little Women on the table before me and smirk to myself.

By lunch, the storm has passed and we're graced with the rarity of an almost clear, blue sky and uninterrupted sunshine. Emmett and Edward decide on a game of basketball, and Rose and I sit in the modest timber bleaches to watch.

Emmett's actually generous enough to hold back and give Edward room to move, and I realize just how much my brother has taken to him. Emmett really doesn't have anyone to banter with at home. Jasper is too uptight and immersed in Alice, and when Carlisle's not married to his work, his focus lies solely on Esme.

Edward is exactly who he's been waiting for.

At some point during the game, they give up on shooting hoops and attempt to trip each other over. Shaking my head minutely to myself, I turn to Rose who's in the midst of painting her nails.

"The last time I watched this game I ate the star player for dinner," I muse, laughing softly to myself.

"Say what you like, sister dearest, but this boy has mellowed you," she says wryly, glancing up from her manicure.

"In the sense that I've let him live?" I counter, dismissing her.

Rose scoffs unconvinced. "Face facts, you'll let him get away with murder."

"I wouldn't count on it," I reply quietly, turning my gaze back to the antics of the two of them.

Edward has Emmett by the foot even as he's being dragged around the court, while both of them are erupting into laughter.

"Something tells me my husband might steal your little play thing away from you," Rose teases me, nudging me with her shoulder.

They've both fallen to the ground and are attempting some kind of wrestling maneuver. Edward doesn't stand a chance, but it doesn't lessen his efforts or enthusiasm.

"Tell him to get his own!" I respond in kind, smiling discreetly to myself.

"How much blood did you give him? He's full of beans," Rose states, seemingly as unable to rid the amusement from her expression as I am.

"Too much. I rubbed quite a bit of it over him." I admit ashamedly.

"For what reason?" she eyes me suspiciously, a perfectly manicured brow raised high.

"To heal him, you deviant."

She snorts past the obvious desire to laugh. "What did you do?"

"I think I half crushed his larynx."

"Good God...How is he still so enamored by you?"

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Get Carlisle to give him a CT Scan. There has to be something wrong there."

"My sentiments exactly," I mutter.

"Well, by the looks of him, he'll be awake for a week," she turns her attention back to the two of them, her smile growing almost wistful. "Em would have made an amazing dad..."

"Um, what does that make me?" I utter dryly. "His Aunt?"

"You said it, not me."

**. . .**

"How'd I taste last night?" Edward asks me at the entrance to Bio after hooking his elbow around my neck.

I'm half a second from stomping on his foot, when I understand his motive. His question was wholly for the benefit of Fake ID, who enters the classroom directly behind us.

"Better than anyone I've ever tasted," I play along, making an effort to limit the sarcasm in my tone. "Aren't you the clever one?" I state ruefully after he sits beside me at our lab table.

"120 IQ," he says with a grin, pointing his finger at himself.

"145," I counter, imitating him by directing my own toward myself.

"..._What_?" he asks, dumbfounded. "Then...you're a _genius_?"

"You sound surprised." I turn to him arching a brow. "And not quite, no. Carlisle's is 180."

He shakes his head even as his eyes remains fixed to me in scrutiny. "How smart were you...before..."

"4.0 GPA," I answer the question he doesn't finish.

"Holy shit..."

"So, let me get this straight. You're stronger _and _smarter?" he continues the conversation in the car on the way home.

"Than you? Than humans? Be specific," I say with a sigh, turning the key in the ignition.

"Than your human self."

"Obviously," I say rolling my eyes as I pull the gear stick into reverse.

"How smart were you?"

I pause and consider it for a moment before answering, "I never had my intelligence tested. I was most likely average; I just worked hard."

"What will I be?" he asks after a moment of appearing to appraise it.

"It's...different for everyone," I hesitate to reply. "What the hell are you doing taking mediocre classes if you have a higher than average IQ?" I put to him after leaving Forks traffic behind and merging onto the highway.

"Because I don't _apply myself_." He quotes mockingly with his fingers.

"Dear me..." I smirk to myself. "Sure it's not to piss Daddy off?" I throw him a knowing glance, and he scoffs.

"That's _exactly_ why," he mutters bitterly.

"What does he expect you to do?"

"Law," he grumbles, running his fingers through the front of his hair suddenly looking agitated.

"What do _you_ want to do?" I rephrase it.

"I...dunno." He shrugs. It's another mannerism he does a lot, I note.

"You _dunno_?" I venture. "What happened to criminal psychology?"

He shrugs again. "It was one of the careers on his _list of approval_." His voice hedges with sarcasm. "It was the only one that kinda appealed to me."

"Oh dear," I acknowledge.

"How come you don't have a car?" he decides to change the subject.

"Why would I?" I answer the same way I did the night before.

"You got your license?"

"Nope."

"Jesus..."

I chuckle. "You think I'm a bad driver?"

"No," he mumbles begrudgingly. "Bella...?"

"Hm?"

"What do I have to do when I live with you? I mean, what's the worst thing?"

I turn to gaze at him seriously for a moment. "Do you really want to know?"

He's nodding—no matter how ambiguous it is—before he can get that one word out. "Yes."

I sigh inevitably and turn my eyes back to the road. "We'll have to fake your death, and you can never see your family and friends again."

* * *

**A/N: thanks for reading :)**


	15. Chapter 14

**A/N: Thank you, love ya, happy reading, yadda, yadda, yadda...  
Edited by Kimmie45, pre-read by StarryEyedWriter8, and Leigh Warner. Thanks, bitches.**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 14**

"I think the best course of action is to show you the contract firsthand, Edward, and then we can explain any questions you might have," Carlisle begins, sliding the stapled pages across the table to him.

We've reconvened at the dining table; Carlisle arrived home early from work—something he rarely does, so I know how seriously both he and Esme are taking it. Alice, Jasper, Emmett and Rose are also in attendance, and the mood for the most part is somber. It's so somber, in fact, that it's infectious, and Edward appears nervous and fidgety.

He nods and reaches for the papers when Esme, sitting beside him, suddenly closes her palm over his hand. "I would like to add, sweetheart, that you will never be treated as anything other than an equal member of our family."

Edward smiles and nods, but whether she's aware of it or not, all my mother has done is impress upon him how _confronting_ the contract is. How dehumanizing it is from a human's perspective.

Clearing his throat softly, Edward appears to hesitate for a moment before he turns his attention to the contract in his hands.

Despite knowing exactly what it says, I read it over his shoulder.

**Terms of Agreement**

**Vampire**

**The vampire must have full consent from all members of their coven (if applicable) prior to signing the contract.**

**The vampire must fit their human with a locating device no later than twenty four hours after the contract is signed. **

**The vampire will assume full responsibility and accountability for the human's actions. **

**It is forbidden for the vampire to place the human's life/well-being above another vampire's.**

**The vampire must be aware of the human's location at all times.**

**The vampire is forbidden from leaving their human unattended for no more than twenty four hours. Alternatively, the vampire can choose to leave their human in the charge of another vampire, or place them in incarceration.**

**The vampire must submit an annual report in regards to their human's activities, providing full disclosure to be witnessed by an independent vampire. **

**The vampire may discipline their human as they see fit, but any ill treatment of the human must be concealed from all other humans. **

**The vampire has up until the human is forty years of age to turn them. If the vampire chooses not to, their human must remain with them until their life expires by either nature or design.**

**A vampire must not have more than one human at a time. Breaking this rule will result in any or all humans being removed from the vampire's possession and disposed of.**

**A vampire may loan their human out to other vampires as they see fit. Alternatively, a vampire may trade their human with another vampire's if both parties are in agreement. However, a vampire does not hold the right to feed upon, abuse, or kill another vampire's human without explicit consent. **

**Upon their death, the human's remains must be cremated and buried in an unmarked grave leaving no possibility of being discovered. **

**I _ [print full name] understand that by signing this contract, I have agreed to all conditions stipulated. I understand that failing to do so will result in disciplinary action where my human will be removed and disposed of. Additionally, I will not be permitted to own another human for no less than fifty years, and any humans I expose myself to within this timeframe will be disposed of.**

**Signature of vampire: _**

**Signature of witness: _**

**Date: _/_/_**

**Terms of Agreement**

**Human**

**The human is forbidden from attempting to escape their Master/Mistress.**

**The human is forbidden from removing, or attempting to remove, their locating device for any reason. **

**The human is forbidden from revealing the true nature of their Master/Mistress to any other humans. **

**The Human is likewise forbidden from revealing the address/location of their Master/Mistress's lair.**

**The human has no more than three months after signing the contract to cut all ties with former family, friends and acquaintances.**

**The human must obey the will of their Master/Mistress as well as any rules their Master/mistress sets down for them, without exception.**

**The human is forbidden from forming attachments with other humans.**

**The human is forbidden from spending nights away from their Master/Mistress.**

**The human is forbidden from venturing more than a five mile radius from their Master/Mistress at any given time. **

**The Human may work/attend school only if their Master/Mistress permits it.**

**The human may have access to the internet if their Master/Mistress permit it, but are forbidden from posting any photographs or sensitive material in regards to their Master/Mistress.**

**I _ [print full name] understand that by signing this contract I have agreed to all conditions stipulated, and will accept any or all consequences by failing to do so. I understand that the contract is non-negotiable and extends for the entirety of my lifetime. I understand that I belong wholly and undeniably to my Master/Mistress, and any actions by my Master/Mistress against me are henceforth fully justified.**

**Signature of human: _**

**Signature of witness: _**

**Date: _/_/_**

**Terms of Agreement**

**Coven (if applicable)**

**All members must oversee that both the vampire and human are following the rules stipulated. **

**If any infraction occurs, the duty falls to the senior members to discipline both the vampire and their human. **

**Any serious breaches of the contract must be reported directly by all members. **

**If any long-term absence, or death, of the vampire occurs, the responsibility for the human will fall to the highest ranking member of the coven. All rules stipulated in the vampire's contract will henceforth be transferred. Additionally the human can be disposed of, given away, or traded at the discretion of the member.**

**Senior members of the coven are required to assume control of, or dispose of, the human if either parties continuously breach the contract. **

**It is forbidden for any members of the coven to feed upon, abuse or kill the vampire's human without consent or cause.**

**By signing the contract, each member of the coven has agreed to all conditions stipulated, and will accept any or all disciplinary action for failing to do so.**

**Full name and signature of each coven member:**

**_ _ Date: _/_/_**

**_ _ Date: _/_/_**

**_ _ Date: _/_/_**

**_ _ Date: _/_/_**

**_ _ Date: _/_/_**

**_ _ Date: _/_/_**

**_ _ Date: _/_/_**

**_ _ Date: _/_/_**

**[Please detail any additional coven members in a second attachment]**

I watch him closely as he reads, noting as his expression turns from curios and confused, to disturbed and then finally alarmed.

"Three months?!" he declares in disbelief as his voice all but fails. His question is directed at Carlisle as his wide eyes begin to reflect a genuine anxiety for the first time.

"Yes," Carlisle responds in a staid tone as if he were telling a patient they have stage four pancreatic cancer. Even still, he's remaining conscious of Edward's feelings while I'm aware only of only my own culpability in all of this.

"Then"—he shakes his head as if he remains in confusion and he cannot fully comprehend it—"I...can't—I don't have a choice, do I?"

"No," Carlisle, again, answers honestly, clearing the discomfort from his throat. "A human who knows about our kind will have to eventually become a member of a coven."

"Or _die_," Edward finishes for him, the distress in his voice now evident. "Jesus."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Esme attempts to soften the blow, "but you will not _belong_ to any one of us. You will be a brother, a son, a..." she abandons it as Edward slowly turns his head to lock his now overrun eyes with mine.

"How can I do this?" he utters, and there's pleading behind his voice, as well as accusation.

I shake my head. "You don't have to." And he shouldn't. He's known me, in person, for barely a month and I'm now expecting him to give up his entire life for me.

A laugh bursts from him seeped with as much bitterness as sarcasm. "I do _hav_e to—your father just told me so!"

"Edward..." I begin, but before I can get another word past my lips he launches himself from the table and storms out of the room.

"He'll be alright," Emmett assures me, not sounding the least bit concerned by his reaction.

"Will he?" I contest, planting my elbow to the table and dropping my head to my palm. "What was I thinking? I should have just killed him."

"_Bella_!" Esme immediately cautions me. "What a thing to say."

I can only shake my head, because no words form. I hate being forced to worry about him—about any human. I was fine on my own; it was my family who pushed me to find a mate. A human mate. I never wanted any of it, but it's all too late now.

"See where your meddling has got me," I direct my ire at Alice, who shrinks back into her chair looking a lot guiltier than I feel right now. "If you just minded your own damn business we would have never come here!"

"I couldn't help what I saw, Bella," she offers up in explanation in a small, feeble voice.

"_Saw_?" I echo sharply. "You all deliberately conspired behind my back, and you know it. I never asked for this!" And following Edward's lead, I pull myself from my chair and leave the room.

I find him on the rear second-story balcony, leaning over the railing and staring ahead into the surrounding forest. A storm is brewing behind his normally acute eyes, and while anger is at the forefront it's almost completely drowned out by how distraught his expression is becoming.

I stand beside him, and while he turns his head slightly in my direction he doesn't acknowledge me. He shakes his head, but whether it's in response to me or what he's just learned is his fate is, I'm not certain.

"I'm sorry, Edward," I offer him my sincerity. "I didn't plan this. I don't know what I planned..." I conclude more or less to myself because I still can't fully grasp it—or him.

"No," Edward says flatly, turning to face me, "You planned on killing me." It's a reminder, an indictment, even though he sounds completely resigned.

"Yes." I'm honest, straightforward; I owe him that.

"So, what changed?" he demands, and he deserves his anger. I open my mouth to answer when he pre-empts me. "My blood appeals to you so much you planned on keeping me around to drink from—right?"

I nod, this time lowering my gaze. Normally if a human spoke to me the way he is I would immediately go on the defensive, but I can't find it in myself to feel anything other than remorse.

"Would you have held me against my will?" A vulnerability is creeping into his voice, his expression, because no matter how much I tried to show him the truth about me, he still clung to his delusions. It's near impossible to bear.

"You wouldn't have had a choice, no," I reply, my voice brimming with shame.

He scoffs impulsively, dryly, but with a measure of disbelief simultaneously. "You're right, Bella..." he says with as much anger as he does defeat. "You're just a beautiful face and nothing else." He turns to walk past me, when I reach out and grab his arm.

"Hang on..."

"Let me go!" he bursts, shoving himself futilely against me.

"If you can get over your tantrum for two seconds, I'll explain to you why you don't have to sign anything," I state impatiently, squeezing my hand around him tighter.

"...How?" He hesitates, dubiously.

"I have a skill Aro wants. I can barter it in exchange for your freedom," I admit with a sigh. He deserves to have the choice, and it won't be that much of a sacrifice in the short term. Seventy—or so—years with Jane wouldn't be _bothersome _at all.

"What...would that mean?" His voice softens, and already he's reconsidering, but then humans are fickle. Human males most especially.

"I'd have to join his guard," I explain simply.

"...For how long?" His eyes canvass mine closely below his rapidly furrowing brow.

"How long do you think?—you believe I didn't have a back-up plan? I didn't make this decision lightly, you idiot boy!"

"Stop calling me a _boy_!" he all but yells in return, yanking a rigid set of fingers through his already disheveled hair. "What does it mean?—that you'll leave again?"

"Naturally," I say sarcastically, "but in return, you'll be able to live your life however you see fit. It's your choice." I release him and turn back toward the house. "If you want to throw any more tantrums, go home first."

He grabs my hand this time, and spinning back to face him, I yank it from his grip. "What now?" I snap.

"How long for?" he persists stubbornly even as he remains troubled.

"For the rest of your life—how long do you think?"

He straightens his back as if it surprised him, and he's already filling with doubt. "I...I can't ask you to do that."

I snort caustically. "I outlived my parents and my brother, I can outlive you, too."

His expression almost crumbles as if I wounded him, but past patience with him, I pull back the sliding glass door and make my way to my room; moving too rapidly for him to stop me.

He doesn't leave, though; he returns to the dining table to continue the conversation with my family.

From the third story, I listen as Esme continues to reassure him, while the rest of my family validates every word that comes out of her mouth.

He'll be her son, she promises, and a respected member of the family.

"What if she doesn't turn me," Edward says, lowering his voice as if he's aware I can hear him. "Will you?"

"If I believe that's what you really want, I will," Carlisle answers the question that was evidently put to him.

I'm back in the room in an instant, firmly putting my foot down. "No!" I declare.

"What's the big deal?" Emmett speaks up in his defense. "If you decide you don't want to be his mate, then you'll have another brother."

"If he turns out to be..._that_, then I won't want him around for _any_ reason," I attempt to explain my reasoning without revealing too much.

"_That_...?" Edward repeats.

"You haven't told me _yet_, have you?" I remind him, my brow arched in emphasis.

"Oh..." he mumbles, his eyes falling to his hands that he has resting against the table in tightly closed fists.

"Bella, once Edward becomes family, he's family—it'll be non-negotiable," Esme points out, her lips thinning in finality.

"He hasn't decided anything yet." Grabbing the back of his chair, I yank it out. "I think you need to go home and think about it." It's not a request.

He nods and doesn't argue; he still appears, in every retrospect, shocked. "O-okay," he stammers. "Thank you Mrs. Cullen. Dr. Cullen..."

"I'll see you soon, sweetheart," Mommy Dearest fawns over him, and with an impatient sigh, I grab his hand and pull him forcefully to his feet.

"I'll walk you out."

When we reach the front porch he tugs his hand from mine, and with his expression clouding he stares down at the ground. "Stop treating me like a kid," he mutters.

I don't reply, I only gauge him closely for a moment. He looks sick, but then he should.

"I'm sorry," he adds, running his hand to the back of his head, his eyes remaining fused to the tiles beneath his feet.

"What for?" I ask as a small smile pulls on his lips.

"For saying...you're just a beautiful face." He meets my eyes briefly and returns my smile; making me conscious of it.

"Why? I am," I answer nonchalantly.

"No, you're not," he sounds insistent, raising his gaze stubbornly this time.

"What am I then?"

"..._Guarded_," he concludes after a moment of contemplating it, and I scoff, but it's a cover; he has me there.

"Okay, get going." My voice softens; I can't stop it.

"I'm still not tired," he says for reasons unknown.

"And...?"

"Will you come and keep me company again tonight?"

"Was that what I was doing last night?" I raise an eyebrow and break into a grin this time; it's wholly in reaction to his.

"Jesus, I must be some kind of masochist." He runs his palm down is face and half laughs.

"I think that's a definite."

"Will you come anyway?" he asks with hope flooding his voice. It's kind of pathetic and more than a little endearing.

"No," I answer reluctantly, shaking my head to further reiterate it.

"Why?"

"Because...you have a lot to think about, and I don't believe you won't try and talk me into sex." And at the mention of that one word his entire expression changes.

"You're stronger than me, so I couldn't talk you into it unless you really wanted to." His grin is shrewd this time.

"Okay, you're clever," I poke him in the chest, shoving him slightly back, "but not _that _clever."

He smiles at me warmly before it inevitably fails as his hand cups gently to my cheek. "It's going to be hard, but I think I can do it," he whispers, his eyes zeroing in on my lips.

"Still think about it," I insist, clearing my voice awkwardly.

"I don't want you to leave—ever again." His thumb slowly grazes over my lips almost absently, taking me completely off guard.

I sigh heavily in an effort to distract myself. "A month."

"...A month..._what_?" His eyes draw back to mine.

"To get to know me, and for me to know you. _Then_ you can decide—and don't you dare tell me you already know me," I immediately head him off as a brazen smile once again lights up on his face.

"You're really paranoid. You know that?"

"I have reason to be," I reply, wryly. "Get going."

"You going to come over tonight?" he pushes, attempting again to pull out that charming smile of his, and if I told him it had no effect on me I'd be lying.

"I'll think about it," I eventually respond, folding my arms across my chest as if I were cold.

"I'm not going until you promise me."

"Are you serious?" I eye him cynically.

He shrugs a shoulder languidly. "If I'm not going to sleep, I'll just come here."

"Try it and see what happens."

"You want me to get to know you, right? When can I do that? We only have one class together at school," he attempts to insert reason, and huffing brashly, I concede.

"Okay, _fine_."

His responding grin is immediate and entirely too wide. "Come back with me now."

"I'll come at ten—no earlier."

He sighs and scratches the back of his head in distraction. Altogether his emotions appear frayed, but he's right, if I'm asking him to spend the rest of his life with me, I owe him the opportunity to know me. Really know me. I'm just not altogether happy about the prospect of it, right now.

"Okay." He leans toward me, and in response I immediately pull back.

"What are you doing?"

"...Kissing you?" he answers with growing uncertainty.

"At least once a day?" I remind him pointedly. "You had your _at least_ this morning, bucko."

"Geez..." he complains, rubbing his brow and squeezing his eyes closed. "Okay." He thrusts his hand out to me.

"...What?"

"I have to say _goodbye_ somehow," he interjects, sounding impatient, but I realize he's not serious; he's making a point.

I take it, deciding to humor him. "Goodbye."

**. . .**

After Edward returns home, my family suspiciously leave me to my own devices, and the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced it's all by design. Regardless of their actions, I realize I have no other alternative than to see it to the end with Edward, and it's emancipating to not have the warden constantly on my back and monitoring my every second.

Around eight, they go hunting; it's one of the few moments I ever get the house to myself. Usually I revel in it, but tonight the silence is deafening. Without the constant distraction of six other vampires in the near vicinity to make time pass more smoothly, I quickly become bored and restless. I fill the time completing homework and assignments, that I could easily do in my sleep, before throwing myself haphazardly to my chaise and opening my well-worn paper back copy of The Catcher in the Rye. But as my eyes scan the first paragraphs of chapter one I realize my mind is already straying. It's not the lack of chaos in the house, or the mundaneness of schoolwork, or even the novel I've read five times over; it's _him_.

While I'd never admit it, I'm impatient to see him; to be in his company again, and for the minutes to tick by a lot faster than they are.

An hour later he gives me the excuse I'm subconsciously looking for.

**I'm feeling pretty shit. I told my folks I'm going to bed early *ahem* **He texts.

I'm grinning to myself and rolling my eyes in response before I'm aware of it.

**You have no shame. **I reply, entirely for pretenses.

**You can come early. I won't mind. **

**I'm finishing my English assignment. I'll come over when I done.**

**How long will that take? **He answers almost immediately.

**Not long. **

**I'm booooooooooooored. Come keep me company? Please?**

**Good god... **I text back, and then again a moment later. **I'll be there in 5**.

I arrive in two. He left his bedroom window opened ajar, and leaping soundlessly, I slide it up and swing my legs through the modest opening in one motion. In doing so I apparently catch him unprepared.

"Jesus, that was quick!" he exclaims.

"You sound surprised," I note, sitting myself down on the edge of his unmade bed. "You're a slob." Clothes are strewn across the room along with various sporting equipment and video games. A keyboard aligns one wall, barely visible beneath several jackets, while the only thing that's reasonably kept is his computer table. An IMac sits closed on top of it, amid several scrunched up balls of paper and three trophies—all for baseball. There is not one book in his room, I realize. Not even one mandated for school.

"I know," he says, chuckling to himself as he flops down beside me. "What are we gonna do?"

"_Get to know one another_." I over-emphasize it, planting a palm to his chest and easing him back.

He smirks and grabs a bag of Cheetos left unopened on his nightstand. After taking a handful and shoving them in his mouth, he actually offers the packet to me.

I only raise a brow in question, and as if realizing, his face reddens. "Jesus, I keep forgetting."

"How is that even possible?"

"I told you, you look..._nothing_ like a vampire."

"That's the entire point." I lean closer to him. "_All the better to eat you with, my dear_."

His grin turns toothy even as he munches on another handful of Cheetos. "Hold out your arm?"

"What...?"

"Hold it out. Like this." He demonstrates, raising his right arm horizontally after dumping the half empty packet to his bed.

"Why?" I ask suspiciously.

He sighs in some kind of exasperation. "I'm curious."

I comply begrudgingly before his warm fingers carefully probe along my upper arm. Then taking my hand, he curls it toward my shoulder, his left palm flat to my bicep as it flexes.

"Satisfied?" I put to him, smiling subtly to myself.

"It's _nuts_," he says, shaking his head in as much awe as confusion. "You feel..._normal_."

"This is probably something you're better off talking about with Carlisle. He has theories that he loves to discuss."

He doesn't release my hand, and clutching it tighter he drops it casually between us. "Don't you wonder?"

I shrug slowly. "It's irrelevant. My life won't change if I suddenly know the _whys and wherefores _behind it all."

He studies me for a moment before nodding his head. "I guess..."

"Say tomorrow they discovered—without the possibility of doubt—the origins of human evolution. What would that mean to you?"

He considers it again and this time offers up a one-shouldered shrug. "Yeah, true. Hey." He taps my shoulder. A strange thing considering he's so close to me.

"Hmm?"

"Wanna get out of here, again?"

"What time do your parents go to sleep?" I question.

"Um...around ten-thirty."

"Okay, then at eleven we'll leave."

"They never check up on me. They haven't since I was...like...eight."

"_Like eight_?" I tease him in imitation, and he blushes again.

"Alright..." he murmurs, roughly clearing his throat and I realize I've embarrassed him. I both like and dislike it, and I almost reach out impulsively to comfort him. Something he notices. "What?" He tilts his head, his smile askew.

"Nothing." I half shake my head.

Taking a deliberate breath he exhales into a long-winded hum. Then releasing my hand, he takes my opposite one, closing his fist around it. "Do you know how to thumb wrestle?"

"To _what_?" I ask blankly, and a little too suspiciously.

"Like this." He snags my thumb with his, pinning it down; something I allow in my growing amusement.

"Are you..._what_?" I might be at a loss for words. He wants to _thumb wrestle_?

"Best out of three. If I win, we leave now," he challenges me.

"You are the most delusional human I have ever met," I utter in disbelief and almost laugh.

"Okay, naturally you'd have to play fair and slow down to human speed. And strength."

"I'm not sure I could maintain that."

He rolls his eyes. Humans do _not_ roll their eyes at me. "_Try_."

"_Fine_."

"Okay. One...two...three." Angling his thumb he attempts several times to capture mine; I don't let him. It's easy enough to evade him and after giving him room to move I eventually snatch his.

"I win," I declare, as he huffs good-naturedly.

"Can I try something else?"

"What?" I ask, eyeing him skeptically this time. I understand that he's curious, but by the same hand, I don't exactly enjoy being his guinea pig.

"Stand up." He directs me, getting to his feet and offering me his hand.

I take it and allow him to pull me alongside him. "What do you want to know now?"

"Could I move you if you didn't want me to?"

"Excuse me?"

"Can I try?"

"_Why_?"

"'Cause it's nuts. You're this tiny, little thing who could kill me with your pinkie finger."

"I am _not _a _tiny, little thing_." I take offense to his choice of words, and with a grin he flattens his palm to the top of my head.

"5'2?"

"5'4!" I assert.

"No way. I'm 6'2 and you're a foot shorter."

"I am 162!" I insist in the face of his continued doubt, and I have to remind myself that he's only teasing me; remind myself not to reach out and grip his scrotum tightly in my fist.

"162 is 5'3."

"Do you want to die?"

He laughs. "You're going to kill me because you're short."

"I am _not_—" I all but explode, and he places his finger to his lips, reminding me to keep my voice down. I huff and whip my head away from him.

"Let's measure you," he suggests.

"Let's _not_!"

"I have a measuring tape."

"And...?"

"I'm good with height. You're...157."

"I'm 162!"

"I'll measure you, and If I'm right...?" he leaves it unspoken in innuendo.

"If you're right?" I echo, raising a very deliberate brow to caution him.

"We leave now."

"You are _such_ a nineteen year old." I shake my head, and it's barely conceivable that he could mature to such an extent in three years that I'd even _contemplate_ turning him.

"Deal?" he ignores me.

"Fine," I relent if only to humor him.

After rummaging around in his desk drawer for several seconds he pulls out the roll of retractable tape and holds it out to me.

"Hurry up before I change my mind," I mutter begrudgingly.

"Okay," he takes my elbow and inches me against the wall, "stand there." Pulling out the tape, he drops the front to the floor and bends the opposite end at my head. "One...fifty"—he squints and peers closer—"_eight_. _Close.._."

"I am one. Sixty. _Two_!" I insist through clenched teeth.

"Wanna check?" he offers, fighting to hold off his grin.

"I...let's just go!" I concede frustrated, and taking a single step toward the window, I suddenly pause. He just _played me_, I realize. I turn back to him; he's descended into silent laughter and struggling to prevent it from becoming audible. "You..." I'm at a complete loss. I have just been outsmarted by a human—something that's never happened in my entire existence in this second life.

In the next breath I exit his room to the damp ground below, and then proceed to watch as he throws a rope through his window, knotted at intervals of roughly a meter apart.

"I don't want you catching me again," he explains after climbing agilely down and pulling himself to his full height beside me. He's wearing a jacket this time, and a beanie covering that odd-colored hair of his.

"You have entirely too much pride," I state, turning to head toward his car.

"Of course, I have," he replies as if it went without saying, and quickening his step he wraps his arm around my shoulders and hurries me along. "So, I _can _move you."

I immediately freeze, and in his momentum he stumbles several steps ahead of me.

"Try it now," I challenge him when he glances at me over his shoulder.

He smirks and turns around to stand opposite me.

Moving my right foot back, I ground it into the turf in preparation.

"What are you doing?" he asks suspiciously.

"Bracing myself. The laws of physics still apply to me. Well, come on, _Mr. Six-foot-two_."

This appears to amuse him, and meticulously he places both his hands to my shoulders. "What do I get if I can move you?"

"You won't be able to move me," I promise, scoffing past his delusions.

"But if I can?" His eyebrows raise high.

"I will let you kiss me as much as you want," I mock him as his grin turns sly.

"Deal."

"All right, do your best."

"On three, okay?" When I nod, he continues, "One...two...three." He bends forward, forcing the entire mass of his body against mine, but it's futile; I remain rock solid. He hasn't a single hope of budging me.

I chuckle lightly at his effort, and just when I think he's going to give up, he releases his hands and scoops me up into his arms in the same motion—taking me by complete surprise.

"Ah-ha!" he declares triumphantly, swinging me back and forth in the air. "You're pretty light."

My mouth falls open in shock, and it takes me several seconds before I can find my voice. "You said you'd move me—not pick me up!" I come very close to shouting into the still winter's night.

"Picking you up, _is_ moving you. I didn't specify how, just that I would." He points out, his satisfaction written brazenly across his face, and I'm beginning to understand why Emmett has taken such a liking to him.

"I..." I pull myself from his arms in a fit of impatience and scowl at him. "You're real clever, bucko."

His grin only broadens and he clears his throat very deliberately. "So, I won, right?"

"You...won," I'm forced to admit, dropping my brow into my outstretched hand. I am not prepared for this. At all.

"So, you're..." he begins when I cut him off.

"It's not going to happen," I emphatically state.

His expression immediately falls. "Why?"

"Because you tricked me, and I don't feel comfortable with it."

"Hmm..." he mumbles as if weighing it up. "Fair enough, but you have to give me something."

"Do I?" I question him.

"That's not really fair."

"Poor little human," I tease him before releasing an inevitable breath. "All right, I will give you something, but choose carefully," I warn him, my eyes narrowing.

His smile resurfaces, and he take a minute to contemplate it. "Okay, I got it."

"What?" I ask, wanting to groan out loud.

"You have to let your shield down so I can see what's in your mind."

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked.**


	16. Chapter 15

**A/N: Would it be rude if I just copy and pasted the same author's note from a few chapters back? Seriously, what else can I say in these things? I suck at them badly. Anywho, thanks Kim, Melinda and Leigh. They know why, and if you read my an's you will too.  
Thanks too for everyone who's reading. I know vamp stories aren't very popular, but I'm surprised by how many people are enjoying it. **

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 15**

Edward is really beginning to confuse me.

He understood the contract and consequently understands that he has to abandon his parents as well as give up his freedom, but overall he appears, in all retrospect, cheerful.

Carefree, in fact. It makes absolutely no sense.

"Explain your mindset to me?" I ask him after several hours of obliging him in lighthearted conversation.

We're in his car driving aimlessly like we did the night before, and it was entirely too easy to lose myself in his banter that for too long his demeanor was lost on me. I'm unsure whether my blood still circulating in his veins has hindered his cognizance, or whether he is as masochistic as he suggested.

"Yeah..." His breath gushes from him in some kind of concession. "I know I've been a bit of a dick, but you're..._fucking hot_, and it's crazy how attracted I am to you."

I turn to stare at him, my mouth falling open. "Um, first of all—_hot_?" I echo, my tone rising with growing exasperation. "And second, that was _not _what I meant!" I huff and turn my attention back to the road, knowing my frustration with him is largely misplaced. For the most part, it's directed at myself because he has me more flustered than I have ever tolerated from a human.

He gazes at me for several seconds, his emerging grin unmistakable from my periphery. "...Then, what _did_ you mean?" he asks, hesitantly. He's somewhat cautious around me still. It's reassuring to know he has a minimal amount of impulse control at least.

"You read the contract today, and you're..." I'm not sure I have words to better explain it.

"Okay about it?" he ventures in conclusion.

"To say the least."

He turns his head from me and stares forward, shrugging "Yeah..."

"But..." I urge him to continue.

"In August, I'm leaving for college and I probably won't see my folks that much. When I graduate, it'll be even less, and it's not like I'm a little kid or anything," he explains. He has a point, but it's still not grounded in reality.

I shake my head; though, it's more out of confusion than disparity. "The reaction you initially had this afternoon? _That_ was normal," I point out. "This, now...? _Not_ normal."

He shrugs a second time and smiles as if he's in secret amusement. "But...I want this. It'll just be like I'm...getting married early."

"To someone you barely know and who has almost killed you several times already," I add wryly.

"Yeah, but you're a vampire," he states the obvious. "So..." He shrugs again, and in reply, I sigh and rest my head against my fist; my elbow propped against the edge of the closed window. "What?" he inquires, curious.

"Nothing," I murmur.

He turns back to the road, and for the next several moments he loses himself in thought. It's obvious when he does now; not only does he suck his cheeks in but his forehead furrows, giving him an overall perplexed appearance.

"Bella...?" he eventually breaks the silence between us.

"Hmm?" I answer lightly.

"When you were in Italy, Mrs. Cullen—"

"Esme."

"Huh?"

"You can call her Esme."

"Okay, _Esme_, invited me over. She insisted on making me dinner. She cooked me a three course meal—I've never eaten so much in my life." He breaks to scoff softly to himself, smiling behind it.

I echo his sentiments, but I'm curious to know the point he's coming to. "Yeah, that does sound like her. Is that when you saw where I was in her mind?"

"Yeah," he admits in a sheepish mumble.

"It's fine. So, you were saying?"

"I was still there when Dr. Cullen arrived home from work, and he greeted her like they were newlyweds."

My smile broadens and I nod in understanding. "Uh-huh..."

"Your mom, she noticed my reaction to it, and she explained to me that when vampires mate, it's for life, and because you're emotions are so heightened, you pretty much stay in the honeymoon period forever."

"Pretty much," I validate, turning to face him and quirking a rueful brow, "so you can imagine what living with six mated vampires is like for me."

His smile momentarily broadens and he half shrugs his shoulder this time. "It's nice though."

"Yeah," I agree.

"My parents are nothing like that. They can barely stand each other." His face almost clouds while he pulls his long fingers through the front of his hair. It appears a subconscious act, as if he were unhappy about it, but it doesn't surprise me. Less than one percent of couples divorced in the 1950s, but now it's common for humans in their forties to be onto their second and even third marriage.

"One in three marriages end in divorce in your world. In ours, it has a one hundred percent success rate."

He turns to me and considers it. "Don't you ever get sick of each other?"

"I wouldn't know. I haven't found my mate," I answer simply, and by doing, so I have apparently wounded him.

"But...aren't _I_ your mate?"

I expel a frustrated breath. "You're a human. My desire for your blood overrides all else, right now."

"But you..._like_ me, right?" He appears almost afraid to ask, bringing the smile back to my lips.

"If I didn't, you wouldn't be alive. Besides..."

"What?"

"You might decide I'm not your mate after you're turned," I reply, but he's shaking his head before I can finish.

"Your mom told me that the emotions I have at the time I'm turned will carry over with me."

"Did she just..." I mumble, subconsciously imitating him by dragging my hand through my hair. "It _will_ reveal your true feelings," I confirm, "But if what you really feel for me is nothing more than lust over my face, you'll awaken as a vampire and realize you want nothing to do with me, and if that happens, I_ will_ kill you."

He's silent for several seconds before he answers, "If that were the case, I'd have the hots for blondie over you."

I turn to him and smirk. "Just so you know, if she catches you referring to her like that, she'll strangle you."

He smiles an entirely too appealing smile that exists somewhere between sheepishness and amusement. "It's true though."

"So, you're saying Rose is more beautiful?" I surmise. Though I'm not bothered by such an assumption. It's common knowledge for anyone with eyes to see.

"I think you are, but if I was just going for looks, I'd probably pick her. I used to have a thing for blondes." He surprises me by his honesty.

"_Used to_?" I glance at him with my brows raised.

He shrugs again; he does it entirely too often, "I didn't realize I was into brunettes until I saw you."

I roll my eyes and grin, shaking my head to myself again.

"You don't believe me?" He seems confused by it.

"I'm not sure what to believe. I can barely make sense of you," I admit, the volume of my voice dropping to almost a murmur. It's raining now, heavily, and I'm forced to turn the windshield wipers on the maximum speed; it does nothing to lessen the speed I travel, though.

"Can I see what you're thinking again?" he asks.

When I turn to glance at him again, he practically shies away from me. I've already granted him payment for winning his bet earlier, and he saw more than what I was prepared for; more than I even realized was in my thoughts.

It was before we both got in his car to leave, and knowing I had to appease him, I decided to get it out of the way quickly.

"What did you see?" I asked suspiciously when his lips twitched, barely suppressing his obvious reaction.

"Me."

I was immediately mortified but I masked it with impatience. "Well, you're right in front of me, aren't you?"

"Me from..._yesterday_," he amended, the grin he'd been fighting breaking free across his face and eluding to much more.

"No," I refuse his request this time. Once was enough. More than enough.

"That's not real fair." He's pouting.

"Life's not fair, bucko."

"Can you not call me that?" He sighs, continuing to sulk.

"What shall I call you?"

He ignores me and changes the subject. "You said you had a brother..."

"I did."

"He died?"

"Three years ago, now."

He was eighty-seven, and he left behind his ailing wife—she joined him less than a year later—four children, eleven grandchildren, and two great grandchildren. He named his youngest daughter after me; his oldest, he named after our mother. My brother created quite the legacy.

Two years after my "death", I walked straight past him on Columbus Drive in downtown Chicago. Rose, Esme and I were shopping. He saw me—very few males fail to notice us—but he didn't recognize me. It's a very disconcerting thing to have your brother size you up.

We moved to Alaska six months later.

"Jacob Dwyer, right?" he puts to me, reminding me that he knows too much about my human life. "Shit... sorry," he mumbles after I turn and glare at him.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm sorry," he repeats, making me feel as if I were overreacting.

"It's fine," I relent with a heavy sigh, which does little but contradict me.

"Can I ask you something?"

"It's hasn't stopped you before now," I reply, the smile returning impulsively to my lips. I'm becoming more aware of it now.

"Do you..." he breaks off to clear his throat self-consciously.

"Do I...?" I coax him to continue.

"Do you..._want me_ to be your mate?"

I take a very deliberate breath. "If ever there was a human who could be my mate, you would be it." I reply with a fair degree of diplomacy.

"That...doesn't make sense." He's obviously confused. And hurt.

I sigh, yet again. "It's all I have. If you're going to need constant reassurance, please warn me now."

He huffs; he's genuinely angry this time. "I did read the contract, you know—you could make me your slave and I couldn't do anything about it."

"My parents would never allow that," I reply, but it's not the response he wanted, and he's pouting again. "Good god..." I mutter, growing in frustration. "I wouldn't treat you like my_ slave_, so your point is moot."

"Will I be able to go to school?" he asks. There's an edge of defiance in his voice, but for the most part it's submissive.

"If you want to." I take a right just before Tacoma, onto Pierce County to head back home. It's just past two am, and he's still not showing any signs of sleep deprivation. "I thought you were _okay about it_?" I remind him, using his own words.

"I am, but you're...not giving much away." He wanted to say something different; that much is obvious.

"I'm not sure what you expect from me, Edward. Especially, considering yesterday I came infinitely close to killing you."

"I _don't know_ what I expect from you, that's the whole point." His frustration is beginning to mirror my own.

I can empathize to a certain extent, but I'm wrestling with too much ambiguity at the moment, and there's nothing I can do about it. "As soon as I'm aware of it, believe me, you'll be the first to know."

"Are you my girlfriend?" he asks the question he's obviously been skirting around.

I laugh dryly. "You are such a teenager."

"And you're an old woman, and I'm sick of your mind games!" he snaps, yanking his hand through his hair again as he tears his eyes from me.

Huffing my breath stiffly through my nose, I come to a skidding halt along a graveled section of the road. "Look at me!" I demand.

He's continuing to sulk, his head turned to stare out the passenger-side window, but he complies begrudgingly with his eyes narrowed.

"In case you've forgotten, I'm a vampire and you're a human." I shouldn't have to remind him, and I'm struggling to maintain my self-control.

I don't argue with humans as a rule, and my first instinct is to silence them. To silence him. "What you call _mind games_, is simply the chasm that exists between the differences of our thought process!"

He expels what appears every last molecule of breath in his lungs and drops his forehead to his palm. "Can you at least try and explain things to me from a _human's perspective_?" he mumbles, sounding suddenly exhausted.

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," he murmurs after the longest pause, shaking his head to himself.

I watch him for a moment, and to my surprise, my heart goes out to him. I want to reach out and comfort him and I have to almost restrain myself not to. "Look..." I begin, my voice softer, "you have to understand, Edward, I'm fighting my own instincts to pursue this with you. It's hard for me." I'm not only referring to my lust for his blood, though it's a very large part of it.

He nods, and there's something defeated about it. I don't like it.

"Okay, fine—I'm your girlfriend," I relent, returning to my usual exasperation with him, but it's a familiarity that's ironically comfortable for me.

"Are you in vampire equivalence?" he asks, his grin returning.

"_Yes_," I'm forced to concede because I am. "Is that what your interrogation was about this whole time?" I'm steadily moving beyond exasperation and into irritation.

He shrugs both shoulders and has the decency to look abashed. "Yeah."

"In the future, can you just be straight with me?" I retort. "Good God!"

"Okay," he agrees.

With a brash huff, I veer the car back to the road and accelerate.

"You know what going out means for humans, though, right?" he asks, but he's dubious. I don't think he believes I do.

"Of course!" I snap indignantly.

"Just checking," he replies, and it's not exactly hard to guess what he's alluding too.

"Be very careful, bucko," I warn him with a scowl.

He feigns some kind of confusion, but his smirk betrays him. "You act like a teenager too, you know." He breaks into laughter, and in my absolute displeasure, I find myself struggling not to join him.

"I _am _a teenager," is my only response. I keep my gaze averted from his and on the darkened road stretched out before us as I head back to Forks.

**. . .**

"You really want me to think about it for a month?" he complains after we return to his bedroom.

"Yes," I answer, unmoved, folding my arms across my chest.

"Fine," he says with a groan.

"One month is not a lot when we're talking about the rest of your life."

"Or eternity?"

"Don't push it."

His smile widens before it again falls. "You said something about turning me when I was twenty one..."

"Yes." I nod once.

"Why? I'll be three years older than you."

"I'll be sixty-eight years older than you," I correct him. "Stop being impatient. I haven't even decided whether I _will _turn you, yet."

"Because I haven't told you..." His expression clouds and he releases a wearied breath.

"Among other things."

"Can we just get it out of the way?" His eyes widen as if to appeal to me, and I pause.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea right now," I say seriously.

"I didn't kill her, and I didn't rape her," he states steadfastly as I immediately tense.

"_Her_?"

"Y-yeah..." he stammers, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Not yet, Edward," I reply in a small voice. "Not yet..."

"Will you kill me if you don't like it?"

"No," I say stiffly, "but I won't be your _girlfriend_ after." I explain it in human terms.

"Will I still have to sign the contract?" He remains hopeful and I can't decide whether I think it's pitiful or empathize with him.

"No," I repeat, shaking my head this time, adamantly.

His expression falls, and with his eyes downcast, he runs his hand back to the nape of his neck, rubbing at his skin heavily. "I hate that it's sitting between us," he mutters to his rug.

"I do, as well," I state truthfully.

"I think I'll just tell you," he decides, raising his head, his expression determined.

"You do realize I'll be a mile away before the first word leaves your mouth?" I caution him.

"Bella..." he sighs, pleading with me somehow.

"You told me yesterday that you can't live with the guilt anymore," I point out. "That implies it's bad."

"Yeah," he mumbles, his shoulder's slumping in defeat.

"Is it true?"

"Is what...?"

"That you can't live with it?"

"I try not to think about it, but when I do..._yeah_..." he admits, the obvious shame in his voice compromises its tenor.

"You're doing nothing to put me at ease."

"I know." He sighs deeply, and there's so much emotion behind it, I can't decipher what's more prominent. "I just...I'd rather know now if it's going to be over between us."

"I told you, Edward, I carried a lot of anger over with me. I won't be able to trust myself if you...trigger something in me," I remind him because it's vital for his own safety. "I'd need Emmett to hold me back."

"Can you bring him here?" he asks seriously.

"Are you sure?" I exhale a wary breath. I'm not ready; not for this. Not to end things with him so soon.

"Yes." He holds my gaze as he answers, and there's conviction behind his. And resignation.

"Fine..." I relent, fighting my own reluctance. "Hold on a minute." Pulling my phone from my back pocket, I call Emmett. He answers almost immediately.

"_You killed him and you want me to help you bury his body_?" he jokes, snickering to himself.

"_Funny_," I say humorlessly. "Can you come here?"

"_Where __would__ there be_?"

"Edward's house."

"_Okay...Be there in a moment_."

He arrives no more than two minutes later, whistling discreetly below Edward's bedroom window.

"We'll come down," I say, leaning over the sill.

"Okay." He salutes me.

I turn back to Edward where he remains standing in the center of his room, his eyes fused to the floor. "Come on," I encourage him, holding out my hand.

His eyes raise to mine and as he takes my hand, an apprehensive smile ghosting over his face.

I pull him to me, and in a single motion, I rise on my toes and place my lips to his. "Just in case I won't want to after..." I answer the unspoken question behind his eyes.

He understands, nodding his head inevitably, and brings both his hands to graze the sides of my face before his lips return to mine. I don't move to stop him this time, and he kisses me for longer and deeper than I have ever allowed him; reminding me again that this human knows what he's doing.

He knows how to break down boundaries with those lips of his, to capture even the most unshakable and unwilling. But it's not only the physical sensation of his mouth against mine, there's an unmistakable rush of emotion behind it. Emotion is the driving force behind it, in fact, but all it does is confuse me. I like it intensely—more than I'm ready to admit—but at the same time, I'm almost repelled by it.

"Just in case I don't get a chance to after," he explains when he releases me, his voice void of volume and catching softly in the back of his throat.

I nod, and promptly pulling from his arms, I turn and jump through his window. He follows quickly after me, and Emmett and I both watch him scale back down the rope; he does easily and agilely. Despite his tall, lean frame, he's athletically built, but still so infallibly human.

"Okay, what's all this about?" Emmett asks after taking Edward's hand in greeting and in solidarity. It's obvious whose side he's on in all this.

"Edward wants to confess something to me..." I begin when Emmett, in immediate realization, breaks in.

"And you want me to make sure you don't kill him." There's amusement behind his voice; something he can't nearly conceal from his expression.

"Affirmative."

"Okay, where to?" he answers simply with a shrug. He's not too concerned by my request, and I wish he'd brought Rose with him. I'd like to understand his mindset right now.

"Out of ear shot," I answer. Edward's house stands alone on the edge of the woods, half a mile from his neighbors, but it's too close. I want to be beyond hearing, if at all possible.

"All right," Emmett agrees. Turning, he leads the two of us deep into the woods until not only are all traces of the houses on the neighboring outskirts obscured through the ferns and evergreens, but the semi-concealed stars overhead.

Edward and I walk alongside each other in silence. He's quite evidently consumed by his own thoughts, and words are as just as lost on me as they are on him. He's nervous; in fact, the degree of anxiety on his expression does nothing to ease my concerns.

When Emmett reaches a small clearing not a quarter of a mile west of Edward's house, he turns to me, his eyebrows raised to gauge my approval.

"Here's fine." I nod, glancing at Edward.

"Okay." He nods his head as well, though his eyes don't rise from the crude, rocky path that cuts through the forest.

"Are you going to speak to the ground?" I ask, my voice softening in response to him. It's near impossible to witness him so dejected, and it's an emotion that's almost alien to me. I am normally immune to the emotional state of humans, and I'm not sure I like this at all.

He looks up, meets my eyes and smiles bravely. "Shall I start?" His voice is almost a whisper and seeped with so much uncertainty.

"I've got her contained, dude," Emmett says lightly, curling his thick, muscular arm roughly around my neck. "You're good to go."

I don't bother to react; I barely notice, in fact. I feel like holding my breath, holding it against an inevitability I am not even close to being ready for.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter's a precipice in this story. Things will move a long a lot quicker after. Thanks for reading**


	17. Chapter 16

**A/N: If anyone knows me IRL or on Facebook you'll know I'm a serious, SERIOUS Final Fantasy VII fan. I mean, is my avi not evidence enough? ;) Anyway, the demo just recently came out, and I have been playing the shit out of it. Mate! The game is fucking epic! I mean, Cloud in 4K HD? I almost died. Anyway, I digress, I have not been doing a lot of writing. I know... But I do almost, ALMOST have the next chapter of Hoodwinked in the bag, and I'm still 10 chapters a head with Black Swan. Okay, what was I saying? I just wanted an excuse to bring Cloud up, really. Seriously, if you own a PS4 download the demo. Like NOW! Go - run!  
Thanks heaps to Kim, Melinda and Leigh and everyone sweet enough to read, and even review.  
**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 16**

"It was the summer before I started freshman year," Edward begins, his eyes remaining fused to the partially snow-covered forest floor, his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his jeans. He's cold, I realize, and for a moment, it's all I can focus on. "I was staying with my cousin, James, for a couple of weeks." He looks up and locks his gaze with mine, but there's something almost ironic about his expression. "I always thought he was really cool..." He scoffs to himself and there's a bitter edge to it.

"Go on," I encourage him when he pauses, in a voice that's barely a whisper. I still can't take a breath or let myself even begin to relax, and it's not because I fear hurting him.

"He said he knew this girl. She was easy—a sure thing." He clears his throat awkwardly, his eyes once again breaking from mine. "He arranged for a group of us to meet with her." He stops again, dropping his head to rub his brow so heavily, it's almost as if he wants to tear the skin off.

"You okay, sis?" Emmett asks in a tenor only I can hear.

"I'm fine," I murmur in reply, my eyes not deviating from Edward; he won't meet them.

"Anyway, we all went to this l-lookout," he stammers, and again, as if frustrated, he pauses to collect himself. "James and a few of the other guys started drinking."

"Did you?" I break in.

He raises his head this time, meeting my gaze only fleetingly. "I took a couple of mouthfuls, but...I didn't really like it..."

"Was this girl drinking, as well?" I ask.

He nods reluctantly, sucking on those cheeks of his again. "Yeah, James was making sure she got pretty drunk..."

"And then?" I prompt him to continue, but my voice is tense; I know where this is heading.

"She passed out cold." He drops his head again, his voice practically inaudible even to my ears. "Then James had sex with her."

"_Had sex with her_?" I snap, incensed by the audacity of his choice of words as Edward jolts. "He RAPED her!"

Again he looks up, and as his eyes meet mine, I realize there's more than defeat reflecting within them; there's a very distinct amount of culpability overrunning them, as well. He nods hastily. "Yes."

Without realizing it, I move to take a step toward him, but Emmett immediately prevents it.

"Steady..." he cautions me.

"I'm fine," I insist stiffly, jerking a shoulder regardless, but Emmett holds to his promise; I couldn't move if I wanted to. "_Continue_," I demand, and Edward flinches again as though I caught him off guard.

He clears his throat softly, his eyes once again locking to the forest floor. "After about...a couple of minutes—I'm not sure—she woke up. She realized what was happening and she...she started screaming. James...he laughed, and held her still even as she fought against him to get away."

"And he continued raping her." I speak in monotone, and it's not a question.

"Yes," he whispers, while both the timber of his voice and expression are saturated by very evident shame. "But the guys...they were getting uneasy. They were trying to convince him to let her go."

"Did he?"

"Eventually..."

"_Eventually_?" I echo. "As in, after he finished raping her?"

"Yes."

"And then?" I continue holding my breath, waiting for the punchline, and ridiculously praying it's not as bad as Edward seems to believe it is.

"Then, she started throwing up. Over James. He got pissed and shoved her over. She...she hit her head on an exposed boulder." His voice subtly breaks, but he roughly clears it before releasing a heavy, shaken breath.

I sigh inwardly, and subconsciously reach up and press my fingers to my brow. A large part of me pities him, but what percentage I'm uncertain. The other part is simmering with anger, while knowing if I let it consume me Edward is as good as dead. "Did that kill her?" My voice is restricted.

He shakes his head before bowing it further until his chin is pressing against the top of his chest. Tears are trickling down his face, and even though his hands are wedged deep in his pockets, it's obvious they're trembling. "No."

"Give him a moment, Bella," Emmett advises in a quiet voice, and by the degree of compassion behind it, he pities him as well.

I expel a further breath, and allow my head to drop in mirror to his. I'm honestly not sure how I'm going to get around this, or how I'll ever be able to look him in the eye again knowing what he was a part of.

"Everyone panicked," Edward continues after a minute of silence that hung oppressively over the three of us. "We-we thought she was dead."

"But she wasn't," Emmett finishes for him.

Edward's head snaps up and he meets my brother's gaze squarely. "No, she wasn't." He scoffs to himself again, but this time I can't make out the medium of it. "We all jumped in the car to leave. James pulled away and she...she just seemed to...jump out in front of us." There's a measure of disbelief behind his words even as he shakes his head gently back and forth. "It happened so fast. We heard the bump. We-we felt it..."

"Shit..." Emmett adds.

"Did you stop?" I ask mechanically, but something is beginning to happen to me, and it's not good. I should probably leave, but I can't. I feel as though I'm rooted to the spot.

He nods, pulling a hand from his pocket and sliding it over his shoulder to the back of his neck. "Yes. She was..._dead_..." That one word practically strangles from his throat as the color steadily drains from his face.

"Dude, sit down," Emmett instructs him, noticing it too, but Edward only shakes his head.

"I'm okay," he mumbles.

"So, you went home and said nothing, is that correct?" I surmise, allowing my head to hang again as I close my eyes momentarily against my steadily converging anger.

He's silent, and when I glance back up at him, he nods in a slow measured movement. His forehead's heavily creased, he's succumbing to the torment that up until now he's only alluded to, and pulling his other hand from his jeans, his stares down at it. "Before we got home, James stopped the car and threatened all of us—warning us not to spill. I didn't speak a word of it, not until I went back home."

"And how long was that?" I ask, my voice completely devoid of any emotion as my hands begin to ball into tightly closed fists.

"A week and a half," he answers flatly. "My dad, he knew immediately something was up with me. He waited until my mom left the house and he took me into his office. That's when I lost it and told him everything."

"Did your old man see it on the news and put two and two together?" Emmett speculates, and again, Edward raises his head and meets his gaze.

"Yeah..."

"So, he went to the police..." I prompt him to continue, and this time it's me who can't pull my eyes from the greenery under foot.

"Yeah. Her family was from.._.money_, and they were threatening to send all of us away for years. So, my dad...he took a plea for me to keep my name out of it, but in exchange I had to do time in juvie."

"How long?" Emmett asks.

"Three months, but with good behavior, I got out in two."

"There's a flaw in your story, Edward," I say, a hard edge to my tone as I raise my head again and catch his gaze.

His eyebrows shoot up in question, but the expression on his face is jarring me. It's not that he looks defeated, or culpable, but as if he were grief-stricken.

"If she were as easy as your cousin claimed she was, then you wouldn't have needed to ply her with alcohol."

He nods, his breath expelling from him before he once more drops his head. "I know."

"Bella, he was a kid..." Emmett attempts to reason with me, but undeterred, I jerk my elbow in his side in silent warning.

"One more thing, Edward!" I demand abruptly.

He doesn't look up from the ground this time, and I stare at him with complete apathy steeling my heart. Any regard I might have felt for him is steadily diminishing, leaving a cold resentful anger in its wake. I'm intimately familiar with anger; anger has been my only true mate these last sixty-eight years.

"Yes?" he mumbles, his voice barely emitting a sound.

"Would you have raped her had she not woken up?"

His head snaps up, his eyes blazing indignantly for the first time, but as they remain locked with mine, steadily widening, they begin to lose all conviction. He eventually opens his mouth to respond, but immediately hesitates.

It's all the answer I need.

"You don't know, do you?"

"No," he replies, his voice steeped with shame, but it's not enough.

"Thank you for being honest," I speak in monotone.

"Bella..." he appeals to me, but I immediately shake my head.

"Stop."

"I'm sorry."

"What was her name?"

"B-Bree," he stammers again. "Bree Tanner."

"Have you ever placed flowers at her grave?" I ask; it comes across as accusing.

"Yes. Bella..."

"Stop!" I snap, my voice rising sharply.

He jolts and nods his head. "I'm sorry."

"Come on, Bella," Emmett says, taking a heavy breath, and from the undertone it's obvious he thinks I'm over-reacting.

"You can go now."

He scoffs. "If I do, you're coming with me."

"I'm not going to kill him!" I insist, affronted by his assertions, "But this _James_...?" I turn back to Edward, a very cold and calculating smile pulling on my lips. "I _am_ going to kill him. Very. _Very_. Slowly..."

"Bella—" he pleads with me again, but I cut him off.

"Is he in jail?"

"No," he answers in a small voice. "Not anymore."

I stiffen, holding onto to my self-control by the barest constraint. "How long did he get?" I speak slowly.

"Th-three years," he stutters, as that very evident guilt overruns his expression again.

"Three years?" I repeat through clenched teeth. "For _murder_?"

"It would have been manslaughter, sis," Emmett adds as Edward slowly nods to the affirmative.

I laugh completely without humor. "Is that the point you're making, brother dearest?"

"Bella, come on..." he complains, but disregarding him, I turn back to Edward.

Your cousin—his full name!" I bark out, causing him to practically jump out of his skin.

"J-James Nomad—Bella, I—"

"If you don't shut him up, I will," I warn Emmett.

"You're being unreasonable again," is Emmett's reply, and even though I don't have a single hope of freeing myself in his iron grip, he tightens his arms around me regardless. "Ed, man, she just needs to cool down."

"Let me go, you great ape!" I demand, jerking against him again and digging my nails into this flesh.

"_Bella_..." Jasper's eternally calm voice breaks in, and I turn in time to see him emerge from the darkness.

"You told him!?" I demand, directing my ire toward Emmett.

"I do know my sister, you know," Emmett replies, scoffing out of some kind of irony.

"You Bastard!"

"Ed, man, don't get alarmed, okay? We're not going to hurt her," Emmett alerts Edward who's now beginning to slowly back away.

"What are you...?" he utters.

"—DON'T YOU DARE!" I warn both my brothers, as Jasper steadily advances on me, and in the next instant, Emmett has me flush on my stomach on the forest floor, before anchoring both my arms behind my back.

"What...what—_jesus_!" Edward exclaims, his voice filling with anguish.

"I HATE YOU!" Pure venom erupts from me as I succumb fully to the animal within. I begin to thrash wildly as a sound I haven't heard in years breaks jaggedly from my throat. "_I'm going to kill you_!" I threaten in an unmitigated growl. Though, whether it's directed toward Edward, Emmett or Jasper, I'm uncertain.

"Fuck, her eyes are turning..." I hear Emmett mutter, but I can feel it; feel the thirst and the hunger beginning to serrate my throat.

Rage is consuming me, consuming the very blood by body depends on for survival.

"Damn, she's pissed," Jasper notes.

"Let it go, sis, or we'll be here all night," Emmett warns me, the grit in his voice evidence that's he's straining to contain me.

"I'm so sorry, Bella!" I hear Edward's voice on my periphery, but I can't see past the pure, consummate anger burning through me as I continue to grunt and snarl like a cornered beast.

"Get out of here, you fool!" It's Rose; she evidently followed, as well. "Okay, you crazy bitch, time to take it down a notch." There's tenderness in her voice as she places her hand gently to my cheek.

"I'm not going anywhere," Edward asserts stubbornly, even as his voice quite evidently wavers.

"Do you really want to see this!?" Rose snaps.

"Leave him be, Rosie," Emmett says, applying more pressure down on my back until I can no longer breathe. "Bella—let it _go_!" He yells this time.

I do as a matter of my own preservation; I don't have a choice, and the instant I release my shield I am flooded by Jasper's calm. It washes over me, steadily reversing my emotions as though it were infecting my very blood like a virus.

My heaving lungs begin to ease, allowing me to catch my breath as I collapse with exhaustion against the frozen ground beneath me.

"I...I'm fine," I mumble, closing my eyes and willing my heart to still.

"She's good," Rose assures my brothers, but the moment Emmett relaxes his grip on me, I catch the scent on the breeze.

Blood, but not just any blood; _his_ blood.

My most primal instincts immediately override Jasper's emotive aura, and in one single instant, I escape the stronghold of Emmett, leap into the air and land directly over Edward; pinning him flat on his back to the ground.

The rich, opulent smell of that undercurrent of life within his veins completely takes over my senses. My eyes roll back, my canines draw and just as I'm about to bite into his flesh, an even deeper instinct within me awakens.

I jolt, my eyes snapping open as I stare down at him in a complete state of shock.

He smiles at me, awkwardly, from a bearing of pain more than anything. "Your eyes are black..." he strangles out, his voice rustic as though it were failing even as a smile begins to shadow his expression.

A sound bursts from me; one of confusion, frustration and turmoil, before I tear myself from him and am gone.

I head east knowing no amount of animal blood will quell this caliber of thirst. My senses lead me; the beast is now pulling the strings, and my mind, my heart, has completely submitted in its wake. I'm a mile out from Port Angeles when I hear them; I hear them before I catch their scent in the air. It's a young couple, a man and woman in their twenties, arguing; or rather the male is relentlessly berating the female with a clear belligerence behind each syllable spoken.

"You were flirting with him in front of me, you whore!" he accuses, the obvious presence of alcohol in his blood making his words slightly slur.

"He's my sister's fiancé!" she declares while tears mar hers. They've been having this same conversation all the way along the near-deserted street, and I'd wager for a lot longer than that.

I do not ease the speed I travel, and I snatch him from her side in one single moment, violently. So violently, I break most of the bones in his body. They break as easily as toothpicks between my fingers, as I drag him back to the forest I emerged from.

He only stares at me in horror, his evident shock muting the words his mouth attempts to form, but jerking his head away from me to expose his caratoid artery, I sever into it and bleed him completely dry.

"You're just another male who treats women like they're a possession," I seethe at his corpse now lying listlessly before me. "_Aren't you_?" I drag him up by the scruff of his jacket. His head lulls backward, his unseeing eyes staring up at the stars overhead fading with the approaching dawn. Releasing him, I catch his head as he flails, snapping it to the side.

Then throwing him over my shoulder, I take him into the remotest part of the Olympic National Forest, before dropping his body from a peak of Mount Olympus into a ravine below.

"You deserved it," I speak, my voice impassive and detached, but still beset by my very lingering anger.

The beast has yet to be appeased.

By sunrise I've killed three; all monsters in their own right. The second a wife-beater in a filthy trailer off La Push; his wife black and blue and cowering like a beaten dog from his latest round of _dominance_. The third was a pure narcissist whom I openly caught psychologically screwing with his wife's mind even as she sobbed and nursed her infant. He was not having an affair, he asserted. Those women were only friends, and she—his wife—was a paranoid, ungrateful, mentally unstable, useless bitch who'd be destitute without him. After thirty seconds of his diatribe, I was livid. The moment he left the house for work, I delivered his wife and child swift justice, but after I felt nothing.

I _feel _nothing. I simply fed. And killed.

**. . .**

It's 8 a.m when I return to Edward. He's in his room pacing the floor when I enter through his partially open window; I near give him a heart attack.

"Bella!" he bursts, his voice a mixture of emotional pain and anxiety, but relief simultaneously. "Are you okay?"

He takes a step toward me when my hand immediately springs out in silent warning. "Of course I'm okay!" I scoff at the assumption.

"Your eyes are red..." he mumbles, his forehead knotting as if he were contemplating it further.

"What exactly did you expect, Edward?—hm?" My tone is unintentionally harsh, but I have no hope of controlling it. My emotions are disjointed at the very least; I still don't know what I'm going to do with him.

"Are you leaving?" he asks, struggling to get those words out.

"For a little while," I answer, taking four steps toward him in bone-crushing speed; he lurches immediately away from me. "Are you still loyal to me, Edward?"

"L-loyal?" he repeats in a stammer, sitting clumsily down on the side of his bed, his hand clutching at his chest.

I sit beside him. "Yes, loyal. Tell me where he lives."

"James?" He swallows thickly.

"Who else?" My voice is fixed on a repeated flat tangent, no matter my emotion.

"Bella..."

"I want to apologize."

"...What...for?"

"For allowing you to witness me hunt. It was..._unforgivable_." I glance down at his feet, realizing he's dressed as though he were going to school.

"It's okay. I saw in their minds that they'd raped before. For a moment...I was worried about you," he admits, severing eye contact with a sheepish smile.

I scoff back the irony of it. "Thanks for the chivalry."

"I keep forgetting," he mumbles.

"I know," I say ruefully, "but I apologize nonetheless."

"I forgive you. Do you...forgive me?" His voice rises with hope; it almost brings a smile to my lips. _Almost_.

I glance up at him, watching as he subtly cowers away. "You've done nothing to me personally. Besides, you were a child..."

He expels a very relieved breath, and moves his hand as if he were going to take mine. Only he quickly appears to see the error of it.

"Bella—" he attempts again, but I don't allow it.

"It's too close to home, and I'm just not sure how I'm going to...process it just yet."

He nods once, appearing reflective. "I understand."

"Are you going to give me his address?—you are aware that with or without you, I _will_ get it."

He clears his throat awkwardly in an obvious attempt at avoidance. "Am I still your...your pet?"

I stare at him blankly for a moment. "When have you _ever_ been my pet?" I demand a little too sharply.

"I thought referring to myself as your..._companion_ might sound too arrogant, right now," he explains with another heavy breath, dropping his head and running his palm to the back of his neck.

"I haven't made up my mind," I answer honestly.

"Bella..." His voice drops, his shoulders along with it. "I can't..."

"Just stop..." I speak quietly, averting my eyes from his. "It's my own fault for letting you get so close to me."

"Bella?" he makes another attempt to appeal to me.

"What?" I ask bluntly, staring through his bedroom window to the forest beyond.

"When you almost drank from me, I saw...wh-what was in your mind..." he explains from a very clear stance of caution.

"What did you see?" I ask, turning to him.

"I saw...what happened to you," he answers, shying away from me a second time.

"What happened to me?" My question is mocking.

"You were being attacked by this...this guy." He knows he's skirting a very dangerous line, but he continues regardless, and even as compassion burns behind his still very alert eyes. "He was strangling you."

My breath draws audibly and I immediately tense, and in response, Edward leaps to his feet.

"I-I—shit, Bella. I'm sorry."

"Sit down, you idiot!" I mutter, grabbing his hand and pulling him roughly back beside me.

"Bella...?" he practically whispers, and he still speaks my name entirely too much.

"You are driving me insane..." I drop my head and very deliberately massage my forehead.

"He was...me."

My head this time automatically snaps up, and for the longest pause, I can only stare at him. "_What_...?" I eventually utter in complete shock.

"He was me._ I_ was strangling you, but this was when you were human." His hands are raised, frozen in the air as if he cautiously wants to comfort me.

I shake my head; it's simply too much to process.

"Did he look like me?" he ventures in a soft voice.

"No," I answer numbly. "You've already asked me that. He looked nothing like you."

"Do I remind you of him...?"

"I'm not having this conversation right now," I decide on the spot. "I'm surprised Emmett allowed me to get near you." Jasper most especially. His reflexes are lightning fast; by all logic he should have caught hold of me before I even thought of attacking Edward.

"A-Alice stopped them," he stammers in explanation.

"What?" I ask vacantly, and I am beginning to detest being constantly in the dark with this human.

"She followed Rose."

"Of course she did," I say bitterly.

"Bella...?" My name again...

"Can you please stop?" It's not a request.

"I saw in her head, too," he continues on regardless, because this human is brazen. And reckless, but it's too late; he's sparked my interest.

"What did you see?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.

"You're going to kill James," he says gravely as if it's somehow news to me.

I laugh once, completely without humor. "Of course I am!"

He nods and bows his head but doesn't reply, and for a moment I scrutinize him closely. I do not like the conclusions I'm making.

"What's the matter, Edward? Having a sudden bout of compassion for your cousin?" I put to him sarcastically.

He shakes his head insistently as he raises it. "No, it's not that..."

"Then what is it?"

"I just don't like the idea of you...killing anyone."

"Because you see me through a lens shrouded by your own misconceptions," I state matter-of-factly. "When are you going to face the reality of what I am?"

He shakes his head again, out of obvious frustration more than confusion. "I know what you are. I just...don't like that you kill."

"Why?" I ask simply. "I'm a killer."

"That's not all you are," he insists stubbornly, and laughing again, I pull myself to my feet.

"You are utterly absurd, but I'm done with this conversation."

"Bella!" he bursts out of some kind of panic and rising to his feet after me, he grabs my hand.

"You need to get it through your thick skull that my family, all of them—even Rose—go against the natural order of their own instincts," I say very calmly, turning to face him. "I am faster, and with the exception of Emmett, I am stronger—do you know why?"

He only nods his head; he's well aware why.

"I am not compromising my existence for my father's twisted sense of morality, and you, my friend, need to come to terms with it."

He releases a gushing breath in defeat and nods his head a second time, compliantly this time. "Okay."

"But," I add, and when he again raises his head to lock his eyes with mine, I reach out and run my index finger along his jaw, "for you, I've made the decision to only kill evil-doers—they taste better, anyway."

He almost smiles and once again nods his head.

"Can you live with that, _nodder_?" I tease him, arching a single brow.

He breaks into a small smile. "I can live with that."

**. . .**

"I want the transcripts from the court case," I demand after shoving open Emmett and Rose's bedroom door.

Over the last two decades Emmett has proven himself as a master hacker. There isn't a classified governmental website he hasn't been able to break into, all without leaving a trace of his online identity. In that retrospect his intelligence rivals Carlisle's.

"Already have them," he says with a wicked gleam in his eye, holding up several sheets of paper all stapled together. "He's telling the truth."

"Thank you," I acknowledge, taking the manuscript from him and skimming quickly through it. "Where's Rose?" I ask a moment later, noticing her absence.

"She, Alice and Mom are all out back discussing you," he fills me in, his head tilting toward the rear of the property as I groan pointedly.

"What has that little rat seen now?" It's not a question, and I fully know the answer; something Emmett elaborates on.

"Bloodshed, sis. Bloodshed." He winks.

I sigh and continue my perusal of the transcripts. "You got his address?" I say, without lifting my eyes from the pages. Again, it's not a question.

"Your doubt wounds me," he jokes. "I wrote it down. Page five."

"Hmm..." I murmur after finding it. Edward proved his loyalty. He gave me his cousin's home address, after some persuasion, and he didn't disappoint.

"You know they're going to try and talk you out of it," is Emmett's head's up.

I smirk to myself. "They can try."

Rose ambushes me in my room half an hour later. "So, you're home," she states with a weary-sounding sigh. "You worried me, you little brat."

"You are such an hysterical bitch," I reply with a wry edge to my voice even as my lips automatically pull into an affectionate smile.

"Do you realize what you did tonight, Bella?" she sits beside me on my bed, taking the transcript from my hands and flicking idly through it.

"What did I do tonight?" I echo in monotone.

She turns to stare at me for a moment as if my answer confounded her. "Bitch, you pulled out mid-hunt on extreme thirst when his blood appeals to you above all else. That just _doesn't _happen." She's serious, I realize. Deadly serious, in fact.

"I know," I concede behind a jaded breath, because I do. It's been hounding me all night; this inability I seem to have to harm my little red canary.

To harm Edward.

* * *

**A/N: Bella will eventually not only ease up on Edward but really start to let him in. In more ways than one ;) **


	18. Chapter 17

**A/N: I'm going to be busy this weekend, so I'm updating early. Happy Friday (for us in the southern Hemisphere), and thanks to Kim, Melinda and Leigh, as usual, and everyone who R&Rs. :)**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 17**

"Bella, please take a moment to reconsider this," the warden attempts to reason with me, her lips thinning with her usual displays of disappointment. "You want to make Edward a member of our family, and yet you're planning on murdering a member of _his_."

"In my time, he would have gotten the chair," I point out.

"That's irrelevant. Times have changed."

"Times change, _we_ do not."

She sighs brashly. "I can't allow it."

I pull myself meticulously up from my day bed and stand-off with her. "Just because I tolerate you treating me like I'm your child, doesn't mean I am one. I'm getting really sick and damn tired of your constant lectures!"

"The day you start acting like an adult, is the day I'll start treating you like one." She doesn't waver, but then neither do I.

"You mean the day I join you in your psychotically masochistic diet? _That_ is never going to happen."

She tuts, her scowl deepening. "You can believe that's all there is to it all you like, but no one in this family believes it. You will never mature until you put your past behind you."

"Have you, Mommy Dearest?" I fire back. "The human who lost her child and now projects that pathology onto all of us?"

She slaps me, hard and more than once. "I'm ashamed to call you my daughter," she says coldly, before turning her back on me and exiting my room.

"Good, because you've _never_ been my mother!" I yell at her retreating form, my fangs extending on impulse. Never in my close to sixty-eight years has she ever struck me, but then I can't say I've ever truly deserved it before.

Next comes Carlisle's condemnation, but by this point, I am well and truly at the end of my tether.

"Bella," he grabs my elbow as he passes me on the stairs, "in this house, you will show your mother respect."

"_She _is not my mother," I reply through clenched teeth, "and your pity on the dying, ugly teenager doesn't make you my father either!"

"Bella—"

"How old do you have to be before it occurs to you that you shouldn't in fact force your existence, or way of life, on anyone, let alone dying children?!" I interject in accusation, jerking my arm from his grip.

"Bella..." he repeats, sighing with it this time.

"Save it. I'm leaving. Inform Aro if you must."

"You are _not _leaving," he challenges me in that ever constant patience of his.

"Let her go, Carlisle," Rose speaks up softly from the landing above us. "This is something she needs to do."

"Fine..." he relents after clearly taking a moment to reflect on it before pushing both hands into the pockets of his pants. "Do what you must."

"I don't need your permission, _Daddy_," I add scornfully, shoving past him and making my way toward the front door.

"Come back to me, bitch," Rose speaks up again, from behind me this time.

"I'm coming back," I assure her without turning to face her.

"Promise me."

"I promise," I mumble, my eyes falling to the marble beneath my feet. They're still muddy from my early morning hunt, but right now I'm under no misapprehension in regards to my primitive nature.

"Whether you want to believe it right now or not. You _are_ my sister, and I'll love you every damn day of our miserable lives."

"God, you're a pain." I scoff ruefully. "I love you, too, Beauty Queen."

In an instant, she's beside me, her arm snaking around my shoulders. Leaning in, she quickly plants her lips to my cheek. "Get going."

"A week. Look after Red Canary. I expect you to kill for him, understand?"

"You think Em would allow any harm to come to his little buddy-buddy," she says wryly.

"Tell him to get his own."

**. . .**

Edward always asks me why I don't have a car, when I do in fact have one; a dark blue 2018 Ford Mustang convertible. I love the throaty growl and power that comes from under the hood, but I rarely drive it. I prefer to run, but today is an exception. Driving will give me time to cool my overrunning thoughts and plan my attack in advance.

And allow shame to trickle over me.

I spend the majority of the drive lamenting over my fight with Esme. I need to apologize. Despite my tantrum, which only confirmed every word out of her mouth in regards to me, she _is_ my mother. She always has been. I treat her atrociously at times; again only reiterating that I am every bit the teenager she accuses me of being.

She took me under her wing when I was a scared, angry, irrational newborn, more animal than I was ever human. She taught me how to blur the lines between our kind and the human race, to see them as more than just a source of food. She was never successful, but I'm the vampire I am today because of her. I'm not sure it's exactly a testament to her, but regardless, I owe her my life and I need to stop being, as Rose would say, a little brat.

With an hour to go before I arrive at my destination, I push my mother from my thoughts and force _James Nomad_ to the forefront. I googled his address before I left. He lives in the San Francisco Bay Area in a loft apartment a mile and a half from Silicon Valley. The drive takes me nine hours, and after reaching the city, I immediately head to the apartment he occupies.

I drive slowly past the early twentieth century, red-faced brick warehouse several times, scoping the premises. He lives on the third floor, and I notice all three of the windows within the wide, arched front façade are open.

I won't have to break in.

I know nothing of James. I chose not to search for him online, because I prefer to find out about the humans I plan to kill in real time. It makes it more interesting.

The first thing I discover about him is that he's in a band, _The Nomads_, I read from a street poster as I blatantly roll my eyes. James is the grungy-looking male front and center, with even grungier-looking dirty blond hair that falls to his shoulders. It's not exactly hard to discern him from his fellow bandmates. He has a self-assured, arrogant smirk that almost reminds me of Fake ID. If he wasn't such a detestable creature deserving of death, he would almost be handsome—if you're into deluded 80's rocker-wannabes, that is. Though, there isn't a single feature on his face that he shares with Edward, and _that_ I'm grateful for.

Three hours later, I find myself sitting at a small round table in a smoke-filled, seedy bar watching _The Nomads_ play to roughly one hundred screaming girls. All are clearly drunk, high or severely lacking in average intelligence, or more accurately, all three.

James, the lead vocalist, is wearing a white, silk shirt buttoned to his navel, with leather pants and biker boots while singing about a car. It's not nearly as surprising as one would think, and I quickly conclude that it's simply not possible for the guy to get any more tragically pathetic. I almost feel sorry for him, but not nearly enough not to avenge Bree Tanner's death.

He notices me, of course; there isn't a guy in the bar who hasn't. Some approach me, and one a little more adventurous than the rest barely leaves with both testicles intact, but my eyes rarely venture from the blond rocker on the fog-filled stage.

He winks, flashes me what I'm sure he believes is his most winning smile, and motions to me several times, but I ignore him as I continue listening to the metal-grating sound that is an assault to my ears.

By two am, the shockingly bad performance is over, and this is when David Lee Roth himself sits beside me, clutching a near-empty bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Hey, gorgeous," he openly slurs, tilting in his chair and leering at me. He reeks of body odor, but he has quite intense blue eyes; granted they're filled with broken vessels and red-rimmed from his obvious pot use or alcoholism.

I scoff blatantly and pull myself to my feet. "Don't give up your day job, _Bon Jovi_," I bend down a fraction and say with a smirk, before tossing a quarter to the table top. "_Tip_." Just as his mouth falls open in shock, I turn my back on him and leave.

Later the same night, after climbing through his loft window, I perch myself at the foot of his bed and _coax_ him awake. He sits up clumsily, immediately catching sight of me—and clearly still not fully coherent—he flashes me a drunken smile. I smile in return, allowing him to see my fully extended fangs. In the same way Edward first reacted to me, although somewhat delayed, he violently jerks back, hitting his head on the brick-face wall of his loft and knocking himself unconscious.

I snort, and standing languidly to my feet, I explore his apartment—his loft apartment that should have been well out of his price bracket. This is the Bay Area after all, and this talentless hack would be lucky to be earning minimum wage. My guess is his Mommy and Daddy gifted him with this cozy little million dollar loft.

I leave very subtle, tell-tale signs that I was here. I drape my cardigan over his dining chair, I leave two strands of my hair on his stark white kitchen benchtop, and using Rose's red Chanel lipstick, I write "see you tomorrow, Bon Jovi" on his bathroom mirror.

I return to the low-grade bar the following night and sit through another mind-numbing performance of cringe-worthy songs about sex and cars. He notices me immediately in the audience, though he pretends he doesn't. His anxiety is evident, and the self-assurance he was in possession of the night before has been replaced by a nervous fluidity that causes him to repeatedly sing off-key. _That_, I enjoy very much.

When I enter his apartment again in the early hours of the morning, he's out cold. The stench of alcohol taints the air with each breath he takes, leading me to believe he either deliberately drank himself unconscious or he's a raging alcoholic. Possibly both. I pay him no regard, though, and head into the bathroom. My message from the night before is gone, but I replace it with a new one. "In three days you die."

On Sunday night, the lead singer of The Nomads is conveniently absent, but then the police were at his apartment this morning, and poor James did look rather pale and peakish. He's taking refuge at his parent's house. I followed him a couple of miles north to the very affluent neighborhood of _Ashbury_ _Heights_, and consequently, to the sky blue _Queen Anne_. It's a lot larger, but not unlike one of the _Painted Ladies_ on a corner block of a typically busy San Francisco street. Unfortunately for James, his parents are out of town, and I'm not about to forewarn him again.

It appears he laid a trap and is lying in wait for me. I heard his half-drunken ramblings well into the night as I stalked his every move on the roof of his parents' house. He gave away his game plan, though, not that he ever had any hope of executing it. He left the third story turret window open with the lights out, and I enter through it allowing him to believe he's ensnared me. The instant he catches sight of me, he fires a handgun. I easily evade the bullet, and before he can blink, I disarm him and hit the lights.

"That's not very polite," I taunt him, leaning in as he sits frozen and trembling in an old wicker chair.

"What are you?" he demands in a guttural voice, squinting blindly up at me.

"The angel of death," I answer, smiling sweetly.

"Are you going to kill me?" He's breaking into a sweat. I can smell the salt in it, and it's nauseating. He obviously hasn't showered in days.

"Most definitely, but I'm going to allow you to choose," I explain as I meticulously turn over the pistol in my hand, inspecting it from every angle.

"Wh-what does that mean?" he stammers.

"Hmm...You can die by hanging, slitting your wrists, drowning, _shooting_..." I raise a pointed brow. "It's your choice."

"Why? Why are you doing this?"

I lean down to him again, faster than his eyes can track. He visibly shudders and turns five shades paler. "_Why_?" I echo. "An eye for an eye, James. You know that."

"I haven't killed anyone," he insists, but his guilt-laden, jittery voice betrays him.

"_Really_?" I play along, sitting myself down in the matching wicker chair and angling it to face him.

"R-really—it was an accident!" he clarifies, continuing to stutter.

"An accident? Hmm... Did you _accidentally_ rape her, too?"

His mouth drops open, and in silence it opens and closes as he glances around the room as if looking for a means to escape. "It-it was... she g-gave consent," is his paltry defense.

"That's fine." I shrug an impassive shoulder. "You're going to give me consent to kill you."

"W-what?" he continues to stutter. "N-no I'm not."

"Oh, but you _are_, James."

He shakes his head adamantly. "No..."

"Don't concern yourself. No one will miss you."

"Please..." he suddenly begs, and I laugh.

"The thing about me is useless human sentiment has absolutely no effect on me."

"Human? Y-you're not human?" He clearly doesn't trust his own eyes because it's obvious he doesn't believe it.

"Not even remotely."

"Wh-what are you, then?"

"I already told you—good god, this idle chit-chat is tedious. Come on." I get to my feet and motion for him to follow.

He remains seated, and without waiting for him to comply, I grab a fistful of his filthy, greasy hair and drag him, hollering and whining down two flights of stairs.

"I didn't take you for such a baby, James," I say, slamming him down in the desk chair in the wood-paneled study on the first floor. "Or can I call you Jimmy?"

"Fuck you!" he grunts in a hoarse voice, planting both hands over his head to protect his grotesque mop.

"Poor baby. Did I hurt you?" I mock him before jerking open a drawer in the mahogany desk and pulling out several sheets of stationary. "Write," I instruct him.

"Write _what_?"

"Your suicide letter, of course."

"Fuck you," he repeats. "I'm not writing _shit_."

With deliberately measured movements, I lean forward from behind him, and plant both palms to the desk. "Here's the thing," I speak very calmly in his ear. "Either you write this letter, or I break every one of your fingers, one by one."

He shakes his head erratically, and before he can get that defiant word out, I snap the thumb of his left hand so far back it almost completely severs.

"That's _one_," I say, clamping my hand over his mouth to muffle his cries.

He shakes his head again, and obviously needing more convincing, I break his index finger in the same manner.

"That's _two_—_write_!"

"No—you _fucking demon bitch_!"

Past patience, I again grab his hair and slam him face first against the surface of the desk. "There are two-hundred-and-six bones in the human body. We can be here all night," I warn him after pulling him back.

Blood oozes from both nostrils, and over his lips as he laughs at me. "No one's gonna believe I killed myself with so many broken bones."

"Oh, _really_?" I toy with him, and biting into my wrist, I allow several drops of my blood to fall against his broken nose. In seconds, the nasal bones reform with a sharp _snap_, making him jerk in his seat with a shriek. "By the time, I'm finished with you, _Jimmy_, there won't be a scratch on you, but you will be very much _dead_," I promise him.

His eyes are beginning to bulge from their sockets, and he's been rendered mute, but continuing to resist—from fear more than anything—he again shakes his head back and forth.

"That's _three_." I break his middle finger, and tearing his shirt from his back, I use it to gag him silent.

By the fifth finger, he's sobbing like a baby.

"Write the letter and I'll kill you quickly. Resist and...well, we could do this for days..." I speak softly against his earlobe after healing all five partially-severed digits. I'm not one to play with humans on such a scale and I'm fast growing tired of it.

"What...d-do I write?" he whimpers after pulling down the torn material from his mouth.

"Do I have to spell it out for you? The guilt over what you did to Bree is unbearable and you can no longer go on," I deride him, because I know he feels no such remorse.

He appears to comply, but it all too soon becomes apparent that he's leaving a cryptic message; the first letter of each sentence spelling out "I was murdered".

"_SIX_!" I begin again with his thumb, only this time I completely crush it.

"Okay..._okay_..." he begs desperately after I yank the gag from his mouth when he screeched like a banshee.

"Don't play me for an idiot, James," I threaten him, grabbing his hair and jerking his head back to lock my eyes with his. "And you _will _apologize to Edward, as well."

"E-Edward?" he stammers as though he misheard. "My _cuz_ Edward?"

"The very one."

This is when he turns the chair partially to face me as an almost sly smile tugs on his lips. "Wait... Are you_ Bella_?"

"_What_?" My voice practically fails, but I wasn't expecting this. How the _fuck_ does he know about me?

"Oh, yeah..." A full grin slowly spreads across his face taking me further aback. "I know _all_ about you."

My hand snaps out as if on impulse, gripping his throat tightly and all but crushing his esophagus. "_How_?!" I demand through clenched teeth.

"He told me..." he squeaks out.

Without releasing him, I tear him from the chair until he's inches from my face. "_Prove_. _It_," I challenge him in a seething whisper.

"My...phone," he chokes as his face begins to turn purple.

Whipping him around, I yank it from his back pocket. The screen's cracked, but it's still working. In deathly silence I hand it to him, fighting desperately to keep my composure intact as I watch him unlock it and click on his Facebook messages.

He hands it back to me to read, and the anger is now simmering along my flesh as if it were tangible, causing my entire body to pulsate in tune with it.

With slow, carefully measured movements, I take it and stare down at the conversation before me.

**How you doing, Ed? **James began the conversation.

**Not bad.** Was Edward's reply.

**Met any hot chicks or are you still fucking the blonde?**

**Yeah, I met one, but man, she's beautiful and way out of my league. **

**Really? Got into her pants yet?**

**Nah, not yet. I'm working on it, though. She's gonna be a hard one to crack.**

**You not in love with her, are you? **Along with that comment, James added a laughing emoji.

**Fuck no. **Edward answered with a vomiting emoji. **Gonna fuck her and move on. She's pretty crazy, ya know?**

**Yeah, seen more of them than I wanna remember.**

Edward's response was a laughing emoji.

**What's her name?** James asked.

**Bella. She's beautiful, but a complete bitch.**

**Best ones to fuck, dude. **With James' last comment, the chat ended.

From my periphery, I notice him raise his fist to hit me, but without severing my gaze from the hopelessly cracked screen and Edward's mocking words, I catch it as he thrusts it down; squeezing my fingers around his wrist until it breaks.

His roars of pain pull my attention back to him, and dragging him to me, I clamp my hand roughly over his mouth. "Make one more sound and you die—and I _won't_ make it painless," I speak coldly, my voice as dead as I can feel myself becoming.

He immediately nods, and I release him. "Heal me... and I'll tell you... more."

I do.

"Edward is... man, he's always been a spoiled, little rich kid. A smart girl like you? How'd he fool you?" He's appealing to my ego, and I'm not even remotely receptive to it.

"Don't bother—just continue." My tone is flat, and for the first time in my existence, I feel... I have no real words to describe it, but I don't like it. I can barely tolerate it. My mind is continuing to rage, but my soul—the very same soul I never believed existed—is... _tired_.

"That night with Bree... Okay, yeah, I got her wasted to fuck her, but Edward was no victim in any of it. He laughed the whole time."

Something within me snaps. It's as though he struck me, the same way Esme struck me

In the next second, I have him by the throat, and, with my fangs extended, I draw the blood from his veins. I draw _my blood_ from his veins, but I don't feed off him. I can barely stomach it, and when I yank him back, repulsed by his closeness, I kill him as quickly as I promised. I break his neck sharply before he's aware of what's happening, and allow him to fall dead to the floor at my feet.

I dispose of his body in the San Francisco bay, and return to my car to make the long trek home. I obey the speed limit through every passing mile, and it takes close to fourteen hours to reach Forks. I needed the extra time to keep myself under control, because if I didn't, I knew I would kill Edward the instant I saw him. Even now, I don't want that.

It's just past three pm when I arrive at his parent's house. I knock on his front door as opposed to jumping through his bedroom window, and the moment he opens it, a broad smile warms his entire face. It only fortifies my resolve that no matter his flaws, no matter what he is, I can't kill him.

"Bella, hey—you're back!" He moves to embrace me, but planting my palm to his chest, I stop him.

"Your cousin is dead," I inform him without emotion.

His expression immediately falls as deep creases steadily malign his forehead. "Hey..." his voice drops to a whisper, "are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I answer, my tone stony but completely and utterly dead.

"Bella..."

"You had misconceptions about me, and it always frustrated me, but the truth is, I was just as fooled by you."

"..._W-what_?" he puts to me in obvious confusion.

"My face swayed you, and your scent swayed me, but don't worry, I will never feed from you again. The very idea of it sickens me to my stomach." I turn to leave, when he immediately reaches out and grabs my hand.

"Bella, wait—_OW_! What are you doing?!" he cries as I forcibly removed his fingers from me.

"Touch me again, and I'll tear your arm off!" I threaten him, and placing my index finger to his chest, I shove him, sending him sprawling on his back along the hardwood floors of the foyer. "If you so much as look at me again, I _will_ kill you, Edward, and don't think for one second that I'm playing with you." My warning is absolute, but it's all a lie.

He immediately pulls himself to his feet and chases after me, but I'm in my car and pulling back down the driveway before he can get close. I can't shut out his voice, however. He calls out to me at the top of his lungs, screaming at me to talk to him, to explain. I ignore him; it's all I can do even as my chest begins to burn behind a barely acknowledged, but very real pain. Despite every effort I made to keep myself detached from this human, I inevitably began to feel something for him.

Esme meets me at the door when I return home with the sincerest concern overrunning her face, and it hits me right then and there exactly how much I have wronged her.

"I'm sorry," I sob, falling into her open arms. "I'm _so_ sorry..."

* * *

**Beta Note**:

Clarification for those who has never visited San Francisco, California; like me in little ol' Georgia.

Ashely Heights is an upscale neighborhood that's peaceful and slow paced about 25 minutes from the fast paced city of San Francisco. The neighborhood has been around for decades and was famous with the hippie movement in the 70s. Queen Annes are the beautiful architectural homes located in Ashely Heights, and go for well over a million bucks in US dollars.

The Painted Ladies are in the same architecture, and are used as a point of reference here. Though, James' parents' home is larger, with a larger yard, and on a corner block. They are a historical landmark in SF.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

~Kimmie45 (Kim)


	19. Chapter 18

**A/N: Love yas, and thanks to Kim, Melinda and Leigh. **

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 18**

"Sweetheart, you have to talk to him," Esme rationalizes, gently wiping strands of hair off my brow. "There has to be a reasonable explanation for this."

I can only shake my head numbly and unmoved. Though, that's my mother; she only ever sees the good in people and she's all too willing to overlook and excuse their flaws. In me most of all.

"Bella, you have to understand, he was young..." she continues when I interject, my voice so dull and defeated I barely recognize it as my own.

"What he said about me was recent."

"Can I see it for myself?" she asks delicately.

"Ask Emmett to hack his Facebook," I suggest absently just as Alice bursts into my room unannounced, a look of panic flooding her features.

"Bella—he's coming!"

Not sixty seconds later, he's banging loudly and erratically on the front door. "BELLLLA—PLEEEEASE! TALK TO ME!"

I immediately cover my ears with my hands, but it's a pointless, child-like gesture. It does nothing to muffle his cries, or stop me from hearing Carlisle's loud, slightly fearful commanding voice.

"Emmett—stop!"

On impulse, and barely conscious of my own actions, I lunge from my chaise and race to the front entrance of the house; only to stop in my tracks so suddenly I almost fall over my own feet.

Emmett has Edward by the scruff of his shirt, three feet in the air and the look on his face is nothing short of murderous. Carlisle's beside him, attempting and failing to talk him down.

"Emmett, release him. This is not who you are," Carlisle reminds him, but Emmett's anger is blinding him to rationality.

"Let him go, Em," I tell him calmly, expelling a heavy breath, but he doesn't appear to hear me.

"What-what did I do?" Edward exclaims, his eyes, wide and beseeching, darting from Emmett to me and back again. "Bella—"

"Do _not_ speak my name—_ever_!" I cut him off sharply.

"Please..." he pleads with me.

Pulling his phone from his pocket, Emmett opens it and shoves it an inch from his face. "What did you do?" he mocks him. "You did _this_, you little bastard!"

Edward stares at it, his already immense, incomprehensible eyes widening further. He shakes his head fitfully. "No...I-I'd only just met you, Bella—it was before I knew!"

Folding my arms tensely across my chest, I snort. "So, before you knew I was more dangerous than you are? Is that your defense? Break his neck, Em. I no longer care." Turning my back on him, I leave the room.

I pass Jasper as he walks calmly into the situation before he unleashes his emotional sedative on the three of them.

"Follow me, Edward," I hear Carlisle's staid voice, as I aggressively slam my bedroom door closed behind them.

**. . .**

"You don't know the particulars behind it," Rose picks up where Esme left off.

My skin was absolutely crawling with the knowledge of Edward in the house. I immediately left through my bedroom window, and kept running deeper into the forest until I could no longer detect his scent in the air. Rose, of course, followed me, sitting beside me on an edge of the cliff-face overlooking the Bogachiel River.

"He kept in touch with that repulsive human—that's all I need to know," I remind her, jerking my shoulder with irritation.

"I still think you should get his side of the story," she stubbornly asserts. "He's your _mate_, Bella—whether you can tolerate him at the moment or not. You know in your heart he is."

"People kill their mates every day," I add bitterly, and she scoffs.

"If you _could_ kill him, he would already be dead."

"_Regardless_," I say, turning to face her. "It's over. Mate or not, singer or not, I _don't _want him in my life." Of that I'm certain.

"Bella..."

"When we get back, I'm telling Carlisle I want to move."

"Oh, Jesus..." she mutters, bowing her head to massage her brow.

"I'm serious about this," I declare, my voice still hopelessly devoid of any emotion other than bitterness. It's best if I keep it this way. If I let anything else seep in, it would mean certain death for the one human I still don't want dead.

"You'll regret it," are the last words Rose speaks before she pulls herself to her feet and takes her leave.

"No, I won't," I murmur in reply, moving in the opposite direction. While Rose heads back to the house, I venture far into the Olympic National Park.

I'm gone for a week, and when I return home, I do so with my red eyes taking on a golden hue from the amount of animal blood I consumed during my sojourn. It wasn't from some reformed lifestyle change; I simply couldn't bear to be within fifty miles of humans. I had no other choice.

Esme, naturally, is overjoyed, but I let her believe I'm coming around to their dietary restrictions. She deserves an infinitesimal amount of happiness when it comes to me, at least.

I don't indulge her in it, though, because the moment I enter the house it hits me—his scent. The entire house is permeated with it. It clings to the furniture, the carpets, and it hangs in the air washing over me.

He was here for several days, and I can barely tolerate it. That night I call a family meeting, and once again, we assemble at the dining table where I tell them I want out, sans The Red Canary. I make my demands clear. I do not want to hear his side of the story, nor am I even remotely interested in it. We are leaving, and _he_ is staying. End of discussion.

"Bella, please reconsider," Carlisle replies with a jaded sigh as if my entire existence wearies him. "Edward knows too much. Aro will never allow him to simply walk away."

"You should have thought of that before you decided to play matchmaker with a child!" I remind him, my tone derisive.

"It's true, your sister did foresee a new member in our family—one who started out as a human—"

"That you conveniently forget to inform me of," I finish for him.

He sighs again, and drops his forehead into his outstretch hand. "Given your..._aversion_"—he deliberately sugar-coats it—"to boys his age, we knew we had to tread carefully. Had you been aware of it in advance, you would have more than likely killed him. We decided to wait and see what happened. Unfortunately, the moment you met him Alice's sight in regards to him ceased. Though, we never anticipated that he would be your singer."

"Well, I appreciate your concern for me and my _love life _and everything," I say as each word bleeds with sarcasm, "but you should have just minded your own damn business."

"Nevertheless," Carlisle is undeterred, but he very rarely is when it comes to me, "I cannot allow a human to die because of us—especially one so young."

"I'll speak to Jane. She'll take care of it," I assure him, my resolve unwavering even as Esme balks.

"You might be able to put that dear boy's life in Jane's hands, but I cannot," she adds, her lips pursing as she looks down at me with her typical prose of_ abject disappointment_.

"Your mother is right," Carlisle immediately backs her up. "You exposed yourself to him too hastily, Bella. From the first day you forced my hand. If you won't register him, _I_ will."

I immediately stiffen, my hands balling instinctively into tightly closed fists. "If you bring him into this house, I will leave and live with Jane"—Rose gasps—"I'd rather work for the Volturi than live with a family who puts a human's wellbeing before my own."

"Bringing Edward here would be for your wellbeing," Carlisle counters calmly. "You just can't see that now."

I scoff scornfully. "Or ever—he is _not_ who he claims to be."

Esme sighs. It's an amalgamation of impatience and quiet desperation. She loves Edward already, but she did this to herself. "We've all heard him out, Bella—all of us, even Emmett—and we're all in agreement—"

"I don't want to hear it!" I interject sharply, before turning to my brother who's sitting beside Rose looking suspiciously sheepish. "I never took you for gullible, brother dearest."

His raises his head, his honey eyes locking with mine, hard and indignant. "If you just stopped being such a pain in the ass—"

"You're being unreasonable," Mommy Dearest cuts him off and continues her condemnation of me. "Like you often do, you are making rash decisions before you can properly think them through."

"I'm not going to change my mind on this," I assert, folding my arms over the table and staring down at them.

"I have heard that from you more times than I can recall," Esme says dryly, sounding as if she were on the verge of laughter.

My head snaps up and I glare at her. "Well, _this time_ you can take it to the bank. And _you_!" I whip around to face Alice. "Keep your nosey little psychic abilities away from him!"

"You're still shielding him, Bella," she points out, but I'm past the point of listening.

Pulling myself to my feet, and slamming the chair back in place, I return to my room. Alone. It's not for long though. Rose enters timidly a couple of hours later, but I've reconciled that all of them are going to attempt to talk me around, and I've decided to humor them. There won't be a moment of peace until they do.

"Aren't you even slightly curious about what he has to say?" She sits beside me on my chaise and snatches the paperback from my hand; which is typically Rose's style. "What the hell are you reading—_Sweet Valley High_?!" she exclaims in disbelieve, and slight repulsion.

"Nope, and I'm reminding myself of just how vile human teenagers are," I answer simply, grabbing the book back. It's brain-scrapingly tedious, but my objective is met; I need reality not idealistic 18th century romance, vis-à-vis Jane Bennet and Mr. Bingley.

"I have an idea—" she begins.

"I don't want to hear it," I break in, forcing my attention back to the impossibly beautiful teenagers—who could only be vampires with that amount of innate beauty—and their banal love interests. "Hmm, Todd... I killed this Todd not long ago. I'm certain of it." I snort back a laugh.

"Would you stop being a sadistic bitch and listen to me!" She tears the book from my hand a second time and throws it through my open window.

I huff. "What's your plan, dearest sister," I say flatly.

She scowls at me. "If you want to be sure of his sincerity, take him to Volterra. Aro will—"

"Aro will find out about his gift and realize what a powerful mind-reader he'll be as a vampire. He'll immediately acquire him—have you lost touch with reality, woman?" I again cut her off, shaking my head at her naivety.

A slow, cagey smile pulls on her lips. "So, you don't want Aro to _acquire_ him?"

"Maybe I just don't want him around for an eternity with me," I add as she arches a deliberately dubious brow.

"Uh-huh..."

"Shut it, Barbie."

"Look, Bella, one thing I do know is no teenage boy can fake that amount of emotion. Ask Jasper if you don't believe me, you stubborn little wench! The poor kid is heartbroken."

"_Poor baby_," I taunt with indifference, just as _Empathy_ himself appears in my doorway.

"It's true, Bella. He has the same level of attachment to you as if he were a vampire. A fact you exacerbated by feeding him your blood..." That askew smirk of his pulls wide, and without an ounce of tact.

"_He_ is a spoiled little rich kid with zero respect for others!" I counter, rising to my feet, when Rose grabs my hand.

"He told us, Bella—that he...laughed at her," she admits with some delicacy.

I automatically tense and attempt to jerk my arm free but she tightens her grip. "I _don't_ want to hear it."

"Well you're _going to_ hear it." She pulls herself to her feet alongside me and glares down at me.

"Don't make me kick your ass, Dancing Queen!" I retort, pulling my hand free. I could, but I never would. Despite the fact that her mate would kill me, I could never inflict so much pain on someone I love. For Rose my humanity has always remained intact.

She only snorts, not even remotely convinced. "Try it," she challenges me.

"Touch her and die, Bella!" Emmett hollers from downstairs as Jasper snickers to himself.

"Why are you still here?" I turn to him and demand. "Fuck your mate and get it over with—Edward already seen how much you want to."

He raise his hands to me and turns to leave. "I could say the same thing about you," he mutters as his voice trails down the hall toward the room I unfortunately share a common wall with.

"Jesus, you're a testy bitch," Rose says, drawing my attention back to her.

"Well, it's ridiculous!" I snap. "They've been mated since before I was born!"

"They do _fuck_, you idiot. They just don't do it here." She rolls her eyes. "Stop deflecting."

"Fine!" I say petulantly. "Say what you have to say and then _leave_!"

Huffing stiffly through her nose she grabs my elbow and forces me back down on my daybed. "He admitted he laughed, Bella. With a whole ton of shame, he admitted it, but he said that night the spoiled rich kid he was died. He's never been the same since. I'm very hard to fool, and if he's putting it all on he's fooling me, Jasper, Alice, Em, Mom and Dad—all of us. You know this, too, Bella, or you would have killed him the day you met."

"He would have raped that poor girl had she not woken up—" I begin, when Rose impatiently butts in.

"He would have, should have, could have—it's irrelevant. He _didn't_."

"If he laughed, he had zero empathy. I would bet the very blood in my veins that he would have raped her, as well, and I cannot conceive of living my life with that kind of person—_ever_! Whatever I might have felt for him is now _dead_. He's lucky I'm even letting him live."

"So, you're condemning him on what might have happened. Great philosophy, Bella," she says sardonically. "You've been searching for an out this whole time and now you've got it. _Congratulations_." Pulling herself to her feet again, she moves to leave.

"You better be prepared for it, Rose. If he enters this house, I'm leaving," I say, deadly serious this time.

"_Fine_," she whispers, closing the door softly behind her, but she isn't nearly finished with me, and in the early hours of the morning, I find her once again before me. "You can't leave me, bitch." She's as serious as I was, and close to tears this time.

"You have Emmett," I remind her with some delicacy.

"It's not even close to being the same, and you know that. I have nothing in common with Alice, and Esme and I clash at the best of times. Bella..." Her eyes project a silent pleading.

I shake my head, but I'm wavering before her eyes and she knows it. "I...I can't, Rose. I _can't_..."

"Bella," she repeats with a sigh, and sitting beside me, she takes my hand, "he was a child and influenced by older boys. Even still, he was the first to come forward and own his part in it. What exactly are you looking for?—because you will never find a perfect human. Or vampire, for that matter. You're using this as an excuse to back out."

I shake my head dismissively, while remaining conscious of her feelings; I share them with her, after all. "It won't be forever—and that's exactly what we have. _Forever_," I stress.

Rose shakes her head along with me, adamantly on her part. "You know how well Em gets along with him. He'll gain a brother and I'll lose a sister—while that little red canary of yours will be a constant reminder of your absence."

"What do you expect me to do?" I complain.

"Stop _running_!" she replies, her voice rising.

"I-I'm not," I falter.

She snorts ruefully. "You were in love with him the first time you brought him here. You've been fighting it every second since. Why can't you see what we all clearly can?" She's genuinely confused. And hurt, but I don't know what to say to placate her, and it's making me restless.

"Rose, whether that night changed him—whether it's even true or not—he was once the very epitome of what I cannot stand. I just can't deal with it."

"So, you're remaining in the past and condemning him by it, as well," she notes scathingly. She's angry, I get it, but there's nothing I can do about it.

"He's a child," is my paltry attempt at reason, only for Rose to scoff obnoxiously.

"So are you, and you have become the very thing you claim to despise."

"Fuck you!" I snap with impatience, glaring at her.

She huffs clearly frustrated. "He is not _him_, and this whole time you've been desperately looking for similarities so you could sabotage it." Her tone becomes accusing, and she crosses her arms to further reiterate it. "You're scared, Bella."

"I am _not_ scared!" I insist, my frayed emotions turning to irritation. "I just don't need to be entrapped into being mated! This entire _venture_ was dishonest at _best_. You treat me like I'm a child who needs to be saved from myself, when you're the ones who live UNNATURALLY!" I descend into shouting, but the momentum of anger and frustration is moving beyond me. "Carlisle forced me into this life. I. Didn't. Choose it!"

"You think I did?" she replies, unmoved.

"You've embraced their lifestyle. That was your choice, but I'm constantly derided for doing the _very thing_ that's within my nature to do! No one ever asked if I wanted their _vegan lifestyle_. They're no better than those weird religious nuts who force their children into cults along with them!"

Rose rolls her eyes, clearly unconvinced. "You're grossly exaggerating now. Stop being ridiculous. If it was so bad why didn't you leave?"

"I stayed because of you!"

"And yet you're leaving me now – despite how I feel." She pouts.

"Maybe I'm tired of being constantly scrutinized by _Her Highness, High and Mighty_. Having her speak to me as though I'm cognitively impaired, and having my property stolen for revolting against her unrealistic expectations that they FORCE on me. At least in Volterra I can be who I am without fear of reprimand.

"You'll become like them. Dead inside. Fossils with no life left in their eyes!"

I tut and shake my head, discarding it. "Now who's exaggerating? I'll be gone at most for 70 years."

"What if Carlisle turns him?" she puts to me simply, and I freeze at the very notion of it.

"He wouldn't dare."

"He's doing all this for you, Bella—no matter how much you fight him on it. Like most parents, he believes he knows what's best for you, and I am in complete agreement with him!" Spinning on her heel, she storms away, slamming my bedroom door shut, and something tells me it's the last I'm going to hear from her on the subject.

I'm in no doubt the entire household heard my fight with Rose, but I keep myself locked in my room, isolated from them all. Rose has a habit of cracking me open like a raw egg, and if Esme comes and inflicts me with her mother's guilt, I'll truly break. The truth is, I'm only just holding it together. No matter the anger I'm still struggling to keep under control, or the revulsion I feel over this new revelation about Edward—no matter his age at the time—I'm fighting to keep my thoughts from him. And I'm losing.

For five days I hold up in my room. I read, I listen to music, I talk to Jane, I watch movie, after movie, after movie, and I play my violin—badly. It was a present from Carlisle and Esme for my fifth birthday as an immortal, but I have no talent for music other than appreciating it. I leave to hunt—animals, of course, but I know if I enter the world of humans, I'll head straight to him. I can't chance it, because I'm still not confident I won't snap and kill him.

Or forgive him.

The following Friday, Esme and Carlisle attend a function at the Medical Center, while Rose, Emmett, Jasper and Alice go hunting. I don't join them. Rose still isn't talking to me, but regardless, the weather's miserable and stormy, and I'd rather not be out in it.

I laze on my chaise, earbuds wedged in my ears blasting out Jimi Hendrix while I idly flip through Animal Farm for the seventh time in half a decade. Lightning is flashing, intermittently illuminating the landscape eerily. It's January, and aside from the evergreens, the majority of trees are bare skeletal frames that reach hauntingly for the sky. With each strike of lightning, they flash white, until I notice something amiss from my periphery.

I turn my head and squint out into the darkness; someone is in the Quaking Aspen tree outside my window, but not just someone. Even in the pitch black of midnight, I can clearly see the rust gold hair plastered wet against his scalp, and his soaking wet clothes that closely sheath his tall, lean body. In a rush I sit up, just as another flash of lightning turns the night into day.

"BELLA!" He yells silently behind the volume I'm listening to Hendrix, while the expression on his face is one of pure torment.

"Good god!" I blurt, pulling the earbuds from my ears, and yanking the floor-to-ceiling window of my room open. "What the hell are you doing!?—are you trying to kill yourself!?" I shout as the relentless sheet of rain hits my face and partially covers my floor.

"Bella!" he cries. "Please—_please_ talk to me. I can't...I can't l-live..." On top of being a complete and utter emotional wreck, I realize he's drunk, as well.

"You are going to kill me!" I snap, past patience. "If I don't kill you first! Climb down, _now_—before you fall, you idiot boy. I'm coming out."

In three seconds I'm below him, watching him climb precariously back down the Aspen tree. His movements are sluggish and uncoordinated, and more than once I have to force myself not to jump up and rescue him.

"Are you hard of hearing!?" I demand, when he pulls himself safely to solid ground, but my anger is stemmed from relief I realize; something I keep concealed from him.

He stumbles closer to me, when without warning he drops to his knees before me in the mud, his head bowed so lowly his chin thuds against his chest. "Bella, p-please forgive me..." he sobs so softly I barely hear him over the raging storm.

"You say my name entirely too much!" I fume, and bending down, I grab a fistful of his soaking sweater and haul him back to his feet. "Come inside before you catch your death!"

He nods dully and follows me, his eyes glued to the ground. When we reach the porch, I stop him. He looks up, confusion marring his blurry, grief-stricken eyes.

"Strip," I command.

"W-what?" he utters.

"You are not walking mud and rain all through my mother's house—she'll kill you. And if you don't get out of those clothes, _they'll_ kill you. So, hurry the hell up!"

"O-kay," he stammers, and he's trembling, I notice. Uncontrollably, while his lips are practically blue.

"What the hell were you thinking, Edward?" I challenge him, helping him out of his clothes when I realize the state of his inebriation and his hopelessly shaking hands make it near impossible for him.

"I-I wasn't," he admits in a cracked voice. "I just...needed to t-talk to you."

"This obsession with me isn't healthy. You have to stop it," I say quietly, my thoughts monopolized by it even as the words leave my mouth. Jasper claims his attachment rivals that of a vampire, but that cannot be.

It can't.

"I-I can't help it," he replies, looking up at me and revealing the extent of his pain for the first time. He looks terrible. He's gaunt, there are dark circles under his eyes, and his skin is waxy and pale.

I huff, exasperated. "What the hell am I supposed to do with you?!" The question's not only for his benefit.

"Please, Bella...d-don't abandon me," he begs me with such an all-encompassing despondency behind his words that it causes me to falter where I stand.

"Keep s-stripping," I stammer with a sigh, rubbing at my forehead laboriously.

He undresses to his underwear before pulling himself to his full height over me. And despite the fact that he's shivering beyond his control, I have to stop myself from staring at him. At nineteen and a half he has the body of a man. His shoulders are broad, his muscle tone accentuated, but not overly so, and a fine trail of golden brown hair rises from the waistband of his underwear to lightly sprinkle across his firm chest.

"Follow me," I inform him, clearing my throat awkwardly and turning my back to lead him inside and up the stairs to my room.

I run him a shower in my adjoining bathroom, and while he's taking it, I raid Jasper's closet looking for something appropriate for him to wear. I grab a pair of sweats, and when I return to my room, Edward is already out.

"Do you normally shower for forty-five seconds?" I ask, raising a questioning brow.

He's sitting on my chaise looking unusually pale, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. "I don't...feel the best," he admits in a mumble, his eyes falling to my floor.

With a heavy sigh, I sit beside him. "Are you going to throw up?"

"Possibly."

"Good god," I mutter. "How much did you drink?"

He shrugs disjointedly. "Not sure."

"Well, that was smart."

"I'm sorry," he all but whispers, beginning to sway. "Can we stop talking for a moment...?"

I huff, exacerbated and utterly at a loss with him. "If you vomit in my room, I'll kill you. Jesus—come the hell here."

He turns to glance at me blankly, but ignoring him, I grab his head and pull him down to me. The scent of his blood deluges me immediately. My fangs draw, and placing my lips to the side if his neck, I breathe that intoxicating scent of him in. His skin is cold, but his blood is rich and burning hot behind it. I bite into him, from his jugular vein as opposed to his artery, and take the pure aphrodisiac of his essence into me.

"B-Bella..." He stumbles over my name, his grip against me as uncertain as the tone of his voice. I'm not drinking from him to feed, however, but to draw enough blood to dilute the alcohol in his system.

"Head back, mouth open," I direct him after pulling back and sucking the remnants of him from my bottom lip. I have missed the delicacy of him. The rich sweetness of his blood that ruins the taste of every other human for me. I'm always going to come back to him; I know that now.

He immediately complies, and biting into my wrist, I squeeze no more than three drops of blood between his lips. I can't risk giving him too much and engorging him again, but what he really needs isn't just an instant cure for being drunk. He needs to sleep, and my blood is the equivalent of a week of it.

"Feel better?" I ask when he cautiously sits himself back upright.

He breaks into an awkward smile, and turns his burning green eyes to me. While my blood can cure him of pretty much anything, what it can't do is rid him of his emotions. His heartache is palpable and a little too hard to bear. "Yeah," he replies in a rustic-sounding voice. "Bella...?" he begins apprehensively.

"Edward?"

"Can... we talk?" His eyebrows raise with hope, and it's genuinely pitiful. He's almost like a drowned puppy.

"No. Go back in the shower before you get hypothermia," I order him, pointing my finger toward my bathroom door.

He dutifully obeys, and I watch him make his way toward it, one hand gripping the towel at his waist while his naked shoulders are slumped in defeat.

"I knew there was a reason they went hunting in a storm..." I mutter to myself, releasing every molecule of air from my lungs in exasperation.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. **


	20. Chapter 19

**A/N: Hey, hope you're all staying safe and not going stir crazy in isolation. No work for me for the foreseeable future, so I'll probably be writing more. Here's hoping. Wishing everyone good health and lots of toilet paper fortune.  
Thanks Kim. And Melinda, too *smooch***

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 19**

"Your eyes are kinda..." Edward leans in closer to peer at them, so close that I'm forced to wedge my palm into his chest to keep him at a distance, "_orange_..." He glances at me thoughtfully, and I shrug nonchalantly. "Are you hungry?"

"They darken when I'm hungry, they don't lighten," I remind him.

"Then...why?" He's confused.

"I've been feeding on animals," I admit simply.

"..._Why_?" he echoes after a pause, his brow knotting further as if he's troubled by it.

"I was worried if I fed on humans, I'd feed on you and kill you." I shrug a second time and watch as a smile ghosts across his lips. "Why is that funny?" I narrow my eyes.

He straightens his back and shakes his head slightly. "It's not."

"Whatever the case, now that you're here, I realize that theory was flawed. I've been limiting myself for nothing."

He gauges me for a moment, his eyes wide.

"Good God, what now?" I demand impatiently.

"You don't want me to die?" he puts to me as if he's genuinely curious, and I huff.

"Even if I did, it seems to be an impossibility," I say irritably. "It changes nothing, though, so don't push your luck!"

"You're never going to forgive me, are you?" It's not a question, and I watch as his shoulders sag and his breath gushes past his lips.

"I told you, you've done nothing to me to forgive," I point out, keeping my voice tactful.

"Bella..." His tone turns pleading.

"Edward," I echo him, and he smiles, fleetingly.

"Will you let me explain?" his brows raise with hope, and I groan loudly.

"Jesus, you're like a puppy with a broken leg," I complain.

"...What?"

"It's pitiful."

"...I don't..."

"I really don't want to hear it. Though, thanks to Rose, I already know half," I mutter, breaking his gaze.

"...What...did she tell you?" His expression becomes pained.

"How you laughed," I state as a matter-of-fact, as my gaze return to his squarely.

He sighs heavily again. "Yeah, I did. I was such an asshole..."

"Among other things."

"Bella..."

"You speak my name more times than it's absolutely necessary. _Why_?" I demand, becoming impatient with him. Though, why I'm impatient, I can't quite reconcile.

"I'm sorry?"

"Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella..." I mock him with an exasperated huff.

"...I didn't...realize," he mumbles, looking pitiful again. "Sorry."

"Stop apologizing, too. It's irritating me."

"So...what's going...to happen?" he asks, clearly fearful of the answer, but he asks nonetheless.

"I live my life, you live yours," I reply simply when it's everything _but_ simple.

"Bella..."

I only sigh and raise a pointed brow.

"Well, how do you expect me to address you?" he snaps, suddenly frustrated.

"How do you expect me to react to you not only being _chummy_ with your rapist of a blood relative, but the context to which you mentioned me? Hm?" I counter, unmoved by his outburst.

He opens and closes his mouth in silence, before abandoning whatever was on his mind behind a heavy breath. "I don't know. You won't let me explain," he murmurs, his eyes falling to his hands.

"Not yet," I inform him.

"When?" he looks up and asks.

"_Not yet_," I repeat myself firmly.

He sighs sharply, but reins his emotions back in, sucking in his cheeks, and I wish I could say it didn't have any affect me. "Bella..."

"Edward," I imitate him again.

And again, he smiles and scoffs past it, but I realize he's serious. "If I move in, are you really going to leave?"

"Well, how else are you going to get over this attachment to me?" I answer, irritated by his question.

"I don't _want_ to get over it," he asserts stubbornly. "I...I want to be with you."

"You have absolutely no understanding of what you're speaking," I state, folding my arms across my chest and severing his gaze to stare out into the continuing storm.

"I do!" he insists. "Okay...maybe I don't. It's just... All I know is, I can't fucking live without you!" I turn to him in time to see him drag his fingers through his hair in a fit of frustration.

"_You_ cannot even tell me _why_ you want to be with me," I remind him, poking him very deliberately in his chest.

"Because it doesn't make sense to me!" he suddenly hollers. "None of this..._makes sense_." His eyes well with tears and jerking his head away from me he hastily wipes them dry.

"Do you want a tissue?" I ask, but my sudden concern for him strangles from my throat sounding wholly like sarcasm.

He half laughs caustically. "Jesus, you're a bitch..."

"I've been called worse." I shrug an impassive shoulder even as I frown to myself.

"Alice said it's all a cover." He turns to me, his jaw set in some kind of determination.

"You really want to go over that again?" I arch a brow.

"Why are you like this to me?" he puts to me, sounding genuinely hurt.

"Because to allow you to get even more invested in me is cruel, and I'm not entirely heartless," I explain, fighting to keep my voice even. He's frustrating me as much as he's confounding me.

"So, you really don't love me?" He's crestfallen and getting to my feet, I groan loudly.

"_Love_..." I echo bitterly. "What does it even mean?—tell me, Mr. I-can't-live-without-you? What does it _mean_?" My voice raises this time, as he subtly cowers away from me.

"I don't know. All I know is that...you're under my skin. You've _infected_ me, and...I want to see what's beneath that hard exterior of yours."

"Nothing's beneath it," I replied stoically. "That hard exterior _is _me."

He shakes his head, unconvinced. "I don't believe that."

"You don't believe a lot of things..." I roll my eyes and sit down beside him on my chaise feeling suddenly weary. I'm beginning to understand how Carlisle often feels.

"Bella..." He cautiously takes my hand; I allow him to. "Just...please hear me out. _Please_. I can't stand you thinking that about me."

"Not tonight," I eventually answer after a long pause of staring into his defeated eyes. He's truly heartbroken and I can't find reason in it. "Where are your folks?" I change the subject.

"Cali. They went to my cousin's funeral." He breaks into an oblique smile. "His body washed up under the Golden Gate Bridge last week."

"Hmm... What a shame..." I play along.

"He didn't have a scratch on him, just a broken neck," he informs me of what I already know. "I thought he'd be torn apart."

"I put him back together again," I allude, winking, and he laughs. It's ironic, but laugh he still does.

"Jesus, this is fucked up."

"You're lucky. It could have been _you_." I walk my fingers up his chest before placing my index finger to the indent between his collar bones.

"It wasn't the first time he had done it, you know..." he mumbles, his gaze falling to inspect Jasper's grey track pants and hoodie he's wearing. Jasper's only fractionally taller and it fits him quite well.

"Oh?"

"Yeah... After what happened, I didn't see him again, but I saw it in his mind."

"And yet, you still went along with it," I point out.

He frowns, his focus shifting to his hands that he's clenching and unclenching in his lap. "I know. I was an asshole."

"And now you're not," I surmise. "Is that what you want me to believe? Hm?" I question him.

"I'm not...the same." He shakes his head to himself, his forehead creasing deeper. "I promise you, Bella. I'm not."

"If you were, I would have killed you by now," I say offhandedly, and his head immediately snaps up

"So...you believe me?"

"I can spot one of _those _teenagers a thousand miles away, and despite all appearances, I quickly realized you weren't one of them."

He gazes at me for a moment as if gauging the sincerity of my words. "Is that why you threatened to kill me that first day? Because you thought..."

"I caught you with your pants down practically in public. I wasn't sure whether you were brazen or just straight up arrogant, but yes, I definitely thought you were," I admit, raising a very pointed brow at him in reminder.

A raging blush overruns his face, and he bows his head. I can practically taste the scent of his blood in the air between us. "Yeah...not my finest hour."

"One question," I decide, and turning his head back to me, his eyebrows pull up in question. "Were you a virgin? That night?"

He nods and releases his breath heavily again. "Yeah. Does that make a difference?"

I half-bow my head to the affirmative and turn my attention to the rain outside—if only for an excuse to sever those culpable eyes of his. "It does. When are your parents returning?"

He pauses for a moment. "I'm not sure."

"When did they leave?"

"Yesterday."

"You can stay here until they return," I conclude, pulling myself to my feet and walking over to stare out my east-facing window. "I'll drive you back to your place to get some clothes."

"O-okay," he stammers, and I can hear the smile in his voice without needing to see it.

I sigh to myself and drop my head into my outstretched palm. I seem to do that a lot in his presence. "Good God..."

**. . .**

"Don't say anything," I demand the moment Esme walks through the front door, beaming smile intact. "I want to test the waters with him in the house with me," I hastily explain, knowing it sounds like a paltry excuse.

"I'm not going to say anything—just that I'm _so_ happy." She places both hands to my cheeks and gently squeezes. "And I'm proud of you."

"_I'm not going to say anything_?" I quote her in emphasis.

She waves her hand, dismissing me as her smile broadens exponentially. "Where is he staying?"

"The _spare room_," I speak with finality in my tone. Though, I don't mention that he won't be sleeping _at all _given the blood I fed him.

"Okay." She makes an almost soft squealing sound, and expelling my breath in exasperation, I turn my back on her.

"You've made the right decision, Bella," is all Carlisle says with a warm smile, laying his palm momentarily to my shoulder as he passes me.

Right on cue, my mud-splattered and drenched brothers and sisters come through the back door, all looking suspiciously pleased with themselves.

"I thought you said I was shielding him," I remind Alice in accusation.

"You can't stretch your shield that far." She winks, and I scoff and turn to make my way toward the stairs. "Stay away from him, you little freak."

"Pinkie swear." She holds up her little finger and giggles. "And did you honestly think Jaz and I were virgins?" She snorts from behind me and breaks into laughter. "That's only you, B."

"Wait, you're a virgin?" Edward asks surprised when I close the door behind the two of us.

"A _vampire_ virgin, yes," I concede.

"What does that mean?—you haven't had sex with another vampire?"

"Score one for captain obvious." I flop down on my chaise and drape an arm over my eyes.

"Ah, yeah, I remember you telling me..." he mumbles. "Bella?" he asks apprehensively this time, sitting beside me again.

"Edward?"

"What does...all this mean?"

"I'm testing...my boundaries. I want to know if I really can tolerate living with you," I explain. "So, don't get ahead of yourself."

"Will it go back to the way it was?" He looks entirely too hopeful again, and with a short sigh, I sit myself up.

"At the end of the week, I'll _hear you out_. Only then will I be able to give you a definitive answer, but no pestering me until then—got it?"

"Got it," he echoes, breaking into a completely over the top, charming smile.

I snort cynically. "That won't work on me, bucko—remember?"

"What won't work?"

"In case you've forgotten, I'm surrounded by beautiful faces on a daily basis. Yours has absolutely no effect on me."

"What...did you think I was doing?" His forehead knots, and I can't be certain whether he's playing me again or whether he's genuinely confused.

"Charming me."

"I was only smiling." He quirks a skeptical brow.

"Sure thing, kiddo," I say dryly, pulling myself to my feet on the pretense of inspecting my collection of books; the reality is far different. For some unnatural cause, I'm struggling to hold his gaze.

"Kiddo," he echoes from behind me, sounding less than impressed.

"You can go and hang out with Emmett if you like," I suggest over my shoulder, and naturally, right as those words pass my lips, my brother himself barges into my room.

"Ed, man, _PlayStation_?" he asks, holding up one of his war games in emphasis.

Edward immediately jumps to his feet more than eager. "Sure! Erm...Bella?" He turns to gauge me as if he were a five-year-old asking for more cookies.

"_Erm...Edward_?" I imitate him again, quickly elaborating when he flashes me that clueless expression. "You don't have to ask my permission—I'm not your mother," I say in exasperation as Emmett yanks him from the room.

I roll my eyes and return to my chaise, and not five minutes later, Rose fills his absence.

"So, what does this mean?" she asks, sitting beside me and draping her arm around my shoulders?"

I nudge her teasingly, but I've missed the bitch. "You know, giving someone the silent treatment until you get your way is a sign of narcissism."

She blatantly smirks. "It worked, didn't it?"

"Not really. It had more to do with my little red canary arriving on the doorstep like a drowned kitten."

She scoffs back her laughter. "Alice saw it all."

"No kidding," I say dryly.

"So, what's it all mean?" she continues to pry.

"He asked me the exact same thing," I say wryly.

"Did you answer him?" Her brows raise high, and she's just as curious to hear the answer as he was.

"I'm still...testing...myself," I mumble, breaking her gaze.

"For what reason this time?" She deliberately sighs, pushing home her point in her usual dramatic fashion.

"Rose," I complain. "This is huge for me, okay? Just don't...push me."

She leans back and raises her hands, her grin broadening. "So long as you're not leaving, I'll give you all the time you need to realize you're in love with Mr. _Masen_."

"You are really annoying, you know that?" I say with entirely too much affection behind my voice.

"I know. Just stop being a bitch to him, okay?" She pauses momentarily to push my still-damp hair behind my ears. "That boy is nursing some serious feelings for you."

"I realize that. He's not shy about confessing it," I say, but my sarcasm falls short and comes out as jaded. "What the hell am I supposed to do with him? He's..." With a groan, I let it go. I can't even begin to make sense of it.

"Has he explained what happened?" Her tone lowers and turns serious.

"No," I reply, half shaking my head.

"Hear him out, Bella, okay?" There's a slight edge of authority in her tone.

"I intend to, but...not just yet."

"Why? What are you devising this time?" she asks cynically.

"I...want to see if what I feel will overrule the worst about him. If, at the end of the day, it won't matter," I explain. Though, I'm honestly not certain of what I'm thinking. Or feeling.

"Huh. That's actually not a bad idea," she acknowledges, sounding impressed. "Acceptance is the first step."

"I admit, I feel _something_. I'm just not sure what," I murmur, as my thoughts continue to drift.

"How did you feel when you saw him on the doorstep looking like a_ drowned kitten_?" She gauges me, her voice deliberately tentative.

"I was angry at first that he'd...worry me like that, and then...he was just so _pitiful_. I kind of wanted to scoop him up in my arms," I admit, realizing how it sounds the moment I speak it, and how Rose will react.

As expected, she not so subtly clears her throat.

"Stop it," I forewarn her, turning to her in time to see the smile break broadly across her face.

"You've been living off anger and revenge for sixty-eight years that you know nothing else. Love came knocking on your door and you didn't even recognize it. You still don't," she explains delicately, but with a discernible empathy behind her words. Rose gets it, after all.

"I don't love him, Rose," I insist without an ounce of conviction. "I'm..._curious_ about him." But that's not quite right, either, and deciding I really don't want to delve into it further, I shake it from my thoughts.

"Hmm...I give you a month," she teases me, wrapping her arm around my shoulders and nudging me again.

I break into an inevitable smile and prod her back.

"So, you going vegan now?" she asks lightly, and when I turn to stare at her aghast, I realize her question wasn't serious.

"I have narrowed my diet to evil-doers and that's all the concessions I'm making!"

"Good, because we need to go _out for drinks_ again. Soon!" She winks in emphasis.

"We'll go this weekend," I promise her, my mouth watering at the mere idea of it. It's been too long. Though, I'd much rather drink from a drunk Edward.

"Maybe your little red canary can tag along," she suggests as if reading my thoughts.

I laugh dryly. "Do you realize what the warden would do to me?"

"Are you kidding? She's falling over herself with how _proud of you_ she is at the moment." She rolls her eyes. "He can be our lookout." She snickers, and breaking into a conceding smile, I shake my head.

"Careful, I'll tell Mommy Dearest you're corrupting me."

**. . .**

The following day is Friday, and at six am sharp, Esme walks in my room, her arms folded as an all-knowing, slightly reproachful smile pulls on her lips.

"What now?" I ask, wanting to groan out loud. It's always something with my mother, after all.

"Edward's been up all night with Emmett and he's not the _least _bit tired," she informs me, arching a very emphatic brow.

"Yes, I gave him my blood," I admit with an impatient sigh, "but he was about to vomit all over my floor."

"Mm-hmm." She purses her lips, even as the smile continues to ghost over them, before she sits beside me. "Sweetheart," she begins tactfully, her tone softening, "I want to apologize."

I immediately sit up, more than a little surprised. "Why...?"

"I _have_ been treating you like a child—even though it was only making you more rebellious. I should have shown more empathy for your situation." She's genuinely remorseful, and it's completely throwing me.

"You don't have to apologize, Mom. I know..." But she doesn't allow me to finish.

"Sweetheart, you can be so much more than what you're allowing yourself to be. You are _so _much more than a heartless killer. Contrary to what you believe, you _do_ have a soul. A soul that Edward's soul sings to."

My mouth falls open in silence, and I'm not sure I have words to respond with. The cynical side of me wants to completely dismiss her, but I don't. The truth is, I want to hear more.

"It's fine." She nods her head in acknowledgment as if she can sense my conflict, before placing her palm to the side of my face; her thumb gently stroking my cheekbone. "But, Bella, you need to find peace and acceptance with your human death, or you'll forever stagnate in anger and resentment, unable to move forward and find true happiness."

"How...do I do that?" I murmur, my eyes breaking from hers to conceal my shame. This is what my mother brings out in me, whether it's her intention or not.

"I think you need to tell Edward what happened to you," she replies with some delicacy. "Let him see your soul. Open yourself to him. He's your mate, Bella—whether you want to believe it or not. He's your mate the same way your father is mine, Jasper is Alice's, and Emmett is Rose's. He's your mate," she reiterates, her voice softly wavering as her eyes slowly well with tears, "and I want you to know the happiness that only comes when you're mated. I want that for you."

I shake my head, but in what context, I'm uncertain. She's completely overwhelming me, and I have no idea where to even begin. "He-he's a _boy_, Esme."

"A boy who witnessed death and was changed by it," she whispers, her palm returning to my cheek.

"But...he played a part in a girl being killed—exactly like I was!" I point out, with more desperation in my tone than I intended.

"He was fourteen and caught up in something he should _never_ have been involved in."

"He still knew right from wrong!" I declare, my voice rising.

She sighs patiently. "And that's why he confessed to his part in it and accepted his punishment. How many other fourteen-years-olds would do such a thing? And from what you've told Rose, he still bears the guilt of that moment every day he's alive."

I open my mouth to reply, but instead, a rueful scoff breaks from me. "Do you always eavesdrop on everything I say?"

A discreet smile twitches on her lips. "Of course. I'm your mother. Nevertheless," she clears her throat and gets back down to business, "he's paid his debt to society, and you have no right to judge him further. How many innocents have you killed?" She raises an explicit brow.

"That is not even remotely similar," I immediately counter.

"Isn't it?" she puts to me unconvinced. "There is no vampire requirement to be a ruthless killer without a conscience. Even Garrett only feeds from evildoers. You kill based on preconceived prejudices."

"I always ask them first—the worst thing they've ever done," I speak up defensively. "All of them have been cruel—all of them. The only real innocent _I_ killed was the stutterer in Port Angeles."

She sighs again, and there's a slight edge of exasperation to it this time. "Sweetheart, being cruel is not a crime deserving of death. Especially to those who have barely had the chance to mature."

I expel a heavy breath and shake my head. "What do you expect me to say?" I mumble in defeat.

"Nothing," she says tenderly. "I just wanted you to know how I feel. Okay—school!" she claps her hands and changes course without missing a beat.

"Are you_ kidding_ me?" I straighten my back and stare at her.

"Not in the slightest. This is an important year for Edward, and as his..._companion_"—she can barely hold off her sarcasm—"you need to be there supporting him."

"He's a big boy, he doesn't need me to hold his hand," I point out flatly.

"After what you put him through the last several weeks, I believe he does. You have thirty minutes." And with that said, she turns and leaves my room just as abruptly.

"Hey!" Edward pops his head around the door a moment later as I'm massaging the exasperation from my brow. "Sorry..." he mumbles

I look up as he enters my room. "What for?"

"I kinda ignored you all night." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and glances away; it's another one of his mannerisms. He won't look at me when he feels he's somehow wronged me.

"And yet, I survived," I reply with a dry edge to my tone.

He flashes me an almost sarcastic grin and sits beside me. "You coming to school?"

"The warden made it a requirement," I say rolling my eyes.

"It's just us. Emmett and Rose aren't going," he confides as I lunge to my feet.

"_What_?" I burst, before yanking open my bedroom door. "Get in here, _bitch_!" I holler down the hall.

"I've done more than what was ever _expected_ of me," Rose informs me, after opening her door ajar to peek at me. "Besides, Emmett and I are planning our wedding."

"_Again_?!" I scoff at the ad nauseam of her and her mate's penchant for getting married every decade.

"Yes, _again_," she mimics me, nonplussed. "If you play your cards right, I'll ask you to be my bridesmaid."

"Good God! Do you want to go out Saturday night?" I go with another angle, cocking my brow with hidden innuendo.

She scowls at me. "Bella, give it up. You have your _little red canary _to accompany you now. So stop bothering me with your tedium." She closes her door with a loud click, leaving me seething.

"Son of a bitch!" I fume, spinning back to Edward, my arms folded tersely across my chest.

He's looking up at me with apprehension intermingled with curiosity. "They're getting married? I thought they were already married."

"They get married every ten years!" I snort past how ridiculous I think it all is.

Edward smirks and muffles his obvious laughter through his nose. "That _is_ pretty lame," he says in agreement. "But..." His smile fades.

"But...?"

"Don't you want to go with just me?"

I huff brashly. "If Fake ID pisses me off, will you be able to hold me back? Hm?"

"I promised to make sure he stopped bothering you. Remember?" he reminds me, smiling up at me as some kind of validation.

"I haven't forgotten. It's just...Rose keeps me grounded," I mumble, bowing my head.

He pulls himself hesitantly off my chaise and approaches me. "I can keep you grounded," he says seriously, reaching out to take my hand in his. "If you let me..."

"Okay, _fine_!" Rose concedes after barging dramatically in my room, and just as I impulsively yank my hand from Edward's. "I'm only doing this because of the..._silent treatment_," she whispers the latter harshly.

"You should feel bad, you wench," I tease her, secretly flooding with relief. I'm not ready to be alone with Edward quite just yet—even if it is at school. We're only on day one, and despite the faith my family appears to have in me I'm not even remotely as confident.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, I _promise_ promise that after this chapter she will ease up on him. Okay...well, after the next chapter most definitely. *throws shit and hides***


	21. Chapter 20

**A/N: I just finished 50 hours of the Final Fantasy VII Remake. I'm still high af, and slightly dazed, so I should probably not say much more. What I said last week x ten.  
I bloody well need a cigarette, people! Holy shit!**

* * *

**Black Swan **

**Chapter 20**

"Holy shit!" Edward balks the instant we enter the garage and he lays eyes on my Mustang. "I thought you said you didn't have a car?" He turns to me, eyebrow quirking.

"I lied. Get in," I reply, heading toward the driver's side.

"Hey?" he speaks up.

"What?" I ask over my shoulder, my hand gripping the door handle.

"Can I drive?" he asks, his voice rising with hope.

I roll my eyes and sigh minutely to myself. "Sure, but scratch my car and you're dead," I warn him, tossing him the keys.

"After what you did to my car?" he reminds me when he pulls himself behind the wheel, sliding the seat back.

"It's not my fault your Swedish piece of crap has no guts," I say, just as he turns to me, his mouth agape.

"..._What_?" His voice practically fails as if I have just insulted his manhood.

I smirk. "God, you're such a teenage male."

"I _am _a teenage male," he mutters sarcastically, turning back to the wheel and slotting the key in the ignition.

He looks good behind the wheel of my car, I have to admit it, and he's as equally enamored by it.

"This car is _so _you," he says, smiling subtly to himself when we're a mile out from school.

"Is it?" I reply unconvinced.

"Yep," he turns to me again, his smile this time broad. "It's beautiful, in your face, and really, really smooth."

I immediately scoff, forcing to prevent my smile from echoing his. "Me? Smooth? I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you do." He winks, and in turn, I arch a cynical brow.

"You might be a pretty vampire, bucko, but right now you're just _human_."

"I'm human, I know." He sighs out of some kind of irony. "Hey?" His tone immediately switches without missing a beat.

"What?" I sigh, rubbing my forehead slowly. He's exhausting me already.

"The other week, you sent me flying twenty feet with just your finger..."

"_And_?" I gauge him suspiciously

"It was to show me how strong you are, wasn't it?" Again he glances at me, but there's something..._odd_ about his expression.

"Nope," I answer simply.

"...Then..._why_...?" He's confused, and this time I have to fight the outright urge to laugh.

"If I'd used my whole hand, you'd be dead," I explain matter-of-factly.

"Oh..." He turns back to the road, his lips twitching discreetly.

I huff, quickly growing exasperated with him. "Why is that funny?" I demand.

"It's not." He half shrugs a shoulder. "I just like that you don't want to hurt me."

"Good God, you're irritating. And if you _ever _do to me what you did last night again, Sonny Jim, I'll throw you down a tree myself!" I snap, only for him to turn his head languidly in my direction and flash me an entirely too charming smile.

"I promise."

I'm out of the car and stalking toward the school building before he can cut the engine.

Rose catches up to me, grabbing my elbow to pull me in line with her. "After the scare you gave me, I want Tequila-infused B negative," she speaks against my ear.

"After the silent treatment you gave _me_, I want your mate to shut up Brer Rabbit!" I jerk my head behind me, where I can smell the scent of him rapidly closing in on me.

She scoffs obnoxiously. "Would you stop fighting him, bitch? It's more tedious than the lack of sun in this town."

"Too much cloud cover dulling your beauty?" I mock her, rolling my eyes because Rose's vanity isn't exactly tactful. She enjoys the sun's highlights, and not only for what it does to her hair.

"Hey," Edward announces his presence by draping his arm around my shoulders. I shrug him off me, only for him to immediately replace it.

"Remove your arm before I break it!" I warn him.

He falters, his expression knotting with confusion. "But..."

"Did I say things were back to the way they were before, you idiot boy?" I say sharply, whipping my head around to face him.

He shoves both his hands roughly in his pockets and scowls at me. "Fine—have it your way, _granny_." And quickening his pace, he moves ahead of us and disappears in the crowds. Though, being a six-foot-two, nineteen-year-old, with that head of hair of his, it's practically impossible to lose sight of him wherever he is.

"God, you're a pain in the ass, Bella," Emmett grumbles, racing ahead to catch up with him.

"It's pleasing to know you completely dismissed everything I said last night," Rose speaks in monotone, revealing how unimpressed she is.

"I have to test him," I say distracted, keeping close track of him even as he moves further into the school building.

"How?" she asks suspiciously.

"Every day I'm with him he openly forgets what I am." I turn to her as she arches a skeptical brow. "I'm not kidding. He says '_sorry I forgot'"—I imitate him—_"at least once an hour. It's psychotic!" I blurt, completely maddened by him.

"He_ forgets_?" she puts to me dubiously.

"He forgets!" I reiterate.

"Huh. He is one strange human..." she adds in obvious contemplation.

"To say the damn least!"

**. . .**

"Sorry," Edward mumbles submissively after approaching me at the lunch table I occupy with Rose and Emmett.

"Why do you constantly feel the need to apologize?" I ask, observing him closely. His head's bowed and he looks genuinely remorseful on top of simmering with resentment.

"'Cause," he says, jerking a shoulder.

"What for this time, then?" I say with a conceding sigh.

"For calling you a granny," he replies begrudgingly, yanking his hands into the pockets of his jacket as if he's not altogether happy with the decision he's made to apologize.

"So, you should be. I'm not a grandmother. Now stop being an idiot and sit down," I reply, my voice light. I'm not angry with him. He'd know if I was.

Breaking into an impulsive smile, he sits beside me. "You gonna apologize to me, too?" He leans closer to me and unleashes that smile on me again.

"And why would I do that?" I ask, edging him back with my elbow.

"For calling me an 'idiot boy'," he points out.

"I'm sorry I called you an _idiot boy_." My voice is droll and a fraction too condescending.

"Being patronizing isn't an apology," he imitates me, fighting off the urge to grin this time, just as Emmett blatantly snorts back his laughter.

"Be very careful, pretty boy, before you find yourself up a tree again."

He huffs, his expression immediately darkening. "Jesus, you're a bitch," he mumbles under his breath, internalizing his tantrum as Emmett immediately straightens in his chair.

"Dude, I know she's a pain and everything, but you can't be calling her that," Emmett cautions him with more than an obvious edge of empathy in his tone. It's very clear who his allegiance is with, and it's not me.

Edward turns to him without an ounce of remorse. "She said she'd start being _nice to me_," he justifies with a lot more sarcasm than I'd usually tolerate.

"_She_ is right here!" I fume.

He glances back at me, his eyes continuing to narrow. "Yeah, that didn't last long!" he says scathingly, in some kind of accusation.

"That was _before_ I found out you told your _rapey_, little deceased cousin that you were going to fuck me and move on," I remind him through clenched teeth.

"How can I apologize when you won't even hear me out?!" he bursts, his eyes widening and boring beseechingly, and angrily, into mine.

"The sexual tension in this room is choking me," Rose mutters dryly, as she goes through the pretense of filing her nails.

"Would you take your tantrum elsewhere? You're grating on my last nerve!" I snap, my patience with him rapidly growing thin.

"Bella, come on..." Emmett attempts to diffuse the situation.

"Why invite me to stay with you if you're just going to treat me like shit!" He slams his fist to the table, alerting half the population of the cafeteria in process.

Taking a very stiff and measured breath, I only glare at him, the warning behind my eyes unmistakable.

Edward falters, blinking as if he's confused, or perhaps he's sensing the danger he's in for the first time. Whatever the case, it's only brief, before he shakes his head and tears his attention from me.

"Forget it," he utters out angrily. "I'm just a _human_—what do I know..."

"You keep this up and that's _all_ you'll be," I promise him, launching myself out of my chair in a single motion to make my way outside. I pass the usual sycophants at Edward's regular table who all turn to stare with varying degrees of curiosity—and glee in the case of Acne Perm—but the moment each of them meets the coldness of my gaze they all quickly sever theirs.

I smirk and push my way through the double doors. Rose is right behind me, grabbing my arm and pulling me around the corner out of sight.

"Okay, calm down..." Her voice is almost soothing, even with a slightly amused smile twitching on her lips. "Bella..."

"What?" I reply petulantly, feeling my expression cloud from frustration more than anything; mainly at myself.

"Look at me." I do, only for her smile to pull broad and rueful. "You know I love you more than my purse collection, more than my car"—I scoff to myself and break into a reluctant smile—"and I'll always be on your side..."

"_But_..." I prompt her in emphasis, flattening my palm to my forehead.

"But, you're not being fair on him." She's considerably more serious, even though it appears to pain her to say it.

"Hmm..." I murmur, allowing my thoughts to drift. She's right; I know she is. I'm just not about to admit to it.

"Either hear him out and forgive him, or not, or send him home while you figure it out. But right now, you're confusing the poor boy."

"He's...driving me insane," I confess, allowing my frustration to momentarily take the reins.

"You know what I think?" She moves to stand beside me and wraps a consoling arm around my shoulders.

"What do you think, Barbie?" I mock her wryly, and with entirely too much affection for the wench.

"I think your _feelings_ for him are what's driving you insane." She challenges me, and while there's sensitivity behind her words, for the most part, she's her usual pragmatic, hard-headed self.

"I think you should mind your own business," I reply, only semi-teasing because she's right. She knows it, and so do I.

"I have an idea," she ventures after prodding me in retribution.

I groan pointedly. "What this time?"

She nudges me this time. "Why don't me, you, Em, and Red Canary go to Eclipse Saturday night?" she suggests, eyebrows raised high as I all but asphyxiate on my own saliva.

"Have you lost your mind, woman?" I burst through a constricted throat.

Eclipse is a very exclusive vampire bar in Seattle where its patrons dine openly on humans. Vampires will often bring their pets and share them around. It's the most morally decadent place that exists in our world, and it's very rare to find a honey-eyed immortal within its walls. "You want me to take him _there_?"

"You can introduce him," she proposes, a very discreet smirk betraying her actual intentions.

"_Why_?" I narrow my eyes, scrutinizing her suspiciously.

"We all _undoubtedly_ think he's your mate, but if you're still not convinced that he only wants to be with you, Eclipse is as confronting as it gets."

I expel my breath, every last molecule of it, but I'm not even remotely sold. "If anyone touches him, I will unleash hell. You are aware of that, aren't you?"

"That's why we'll bring Em." She winks.

"Oh my God..." I break into an inevitable grin. "Not to mention, if anything happens to him, the warden will kill all three of us."

"You wouldn't let anything happen to him," she adds slyly. "The way he was speaking to you back there..." She tilts her head toward the cafeteria. "You didn't even flinch, and Em was preparing to throw himself between the two of you. You've _mellowed_, sister dearest."

"You wish, you bitch," I retort, scoffing past how ridiculous I think it is. "He's my_ mate_—you expect me to tear his head off?" I turn her words back on her.

She chuckles lightly and squeezes me. "Though, that glare you threw him? It sure made him sit up straight. I think it even scared Em."

**. . .**

"Emmett told me I should give you some space, so I'll ride home with him and Rose, okay?" Edward puts to me at the beginning of Bio.

"Do as you wish," I reply coolly without turning to look at him.

"Bella..." He sighs.

"What?" I keep my eyes steeled to the whiteboard ahead of us.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"You have nothing to apologize for," I cut him off.

"Then..." he murmurs but appears to abandon it.

This is when I turn to glance at him; his head's bowed and he's rubbing heavily at his forehead with the heel of his palm.

"This is driving me nuts," he says by way of explanation.

"What is?" I ask, my tone subconsciously dropping in line with my troubled thoughts.

"You. You're hot and cold around me. I never know what to expect," he appeals to me, and there is something behind those jaded eyes of his that makes me pause.

I expel my breath sharply, but I have no words to put him at ease, so I offer nothing.

"Bella...I..." But once again appearing frustrated, he lets it go. "Loving you is really hard, you know that," he mutters beneath his breath, and entirely to himself.

I turn to him squarely this time. "Loving you is harder," I reciprocate when he looks up and catches my gaze.

His pulls up short, his eyes immediately widening as he blinks back the obvious surprise of it. "You heard that?" He's in disbelief.

"Of course, I did." I scoff at his naivety. "I hear everything you mumble to yourself."

"E-everything?" he stammers, looking immediately guilty.

"_Everything_," I affirm.

"Shit..." he mumbles.

"Is this your definition of _giving me space_?" I put to him, eyebrows raised high.

"Do...you _want_ me to give you space?" he asks apprehensively.

"Good Lord..." I honestly feel like beating my head against the lab table between us. It's not only because of Edward, however. Fake ID and Acne Frizz are currently in the back row discussing mine and Edward's obvious break-up. "You aren't keeping up your end of the bargain," I lean close to him and whisper covertly in his ear.

He gazes at me in confusion, even as blood rushes conspicuously along his neck. "Huh?"

"Fake ID. I don't like the conclusions he's making."

"...What's"—he glances over his shoulder, his forehead knotting—"he saying?"

"That I've been screwing around on you," I fill him in, as he immediately tenses.

"_What_?" He practically snarls over that one word.

"You heard me."

"That _fucking_ asshole," he mutters darkly, and for a single moment, my little red canary actually looks threatening. "I'm going to fucking kill him," he adds, silently fuming to himself. It's causing his blood to run even hotter through his veins, and my mouth to immediately salivate.

"Calm down, bucko. I've been feeding on animal blood for two weeks, in case you've forgotten," I explain lowly, swallowing past the relentless urge I constantly fight in his presence.

"Are...you okay?" His voice drops with sudden concern, and I find it very hard not to break into a smile.

"I'm fine." I clear my throat roughly, shaking my head gently to myself.

"Sure?" He inches closer to me, enclosing me in his scent, and I close my eyes and practically sway.

"Fine," I repeat in a murmur.

He taps my shoulder gently and opening my eyes, I turn to gaze at him. "Can we talk when we get home?" he asks, a vulnerable expression monopolizing his face.

"All right," I reply, my voice barely emitting a sound, and without conscious thought, I lean toward him and press my face against the warmth of his neck as though being reeled in by an invisible lure.

"B-Bella..." he stammers nervously.

I swallow the moan building in my throat as I slowly drag my nose and lips up and down his supple flesh. My fangs have drawn, and my eyes are slowly rolling back into complete darkness. "God, you smell good..." I breathe.

"Bella," he echoes, the tone of his voice more urgent this time. He wraps both arms around me; it doesn't help, but I immediately understand his thought process. From an outside perspective, it would seem as though he were comforting me.

My groan this time becomes audible, and it's enough to pull me back to my senses at the very least. Knowing I have to play along though, I curl against him and grip his shirt with both my fists. He's warm, so warm it feels as if it's seeping through my skin, contaminating me.

"Are you okay?" he whispers against my hair when I realize exactly what's happening to me. Not only am I in the darkest depths of blood lust, but my desire is not limited to what's coursing through his veins.

I pull back abruptly and stare ahead of me, flustered and a lot more surprised by own impulses than I really should be.

"Bella..." Edward whispers in an obvious attempt to grab my attention.

I turn to him, feeling suddenly feverish—if that were at all possible. I only tilt my head in question, and very discreetly he parts his lips and taps his index finger to his teeth.

In immediate comprehension, I whip my head back to the front of the room and clamp my jaw shut, willing my fangs to withdraw.

It takes imagining Acne Affliction for it to be fully effective, but after my thoughts are as equally frazzled as my physical state.

I'm hungry, I decide, attempting and failing, to put it out of my mind, but there's no escaping it. I'm hungry for the hot-blooded boy sitting beside me, in more ways than one.

And my red canary, it would seem, is just as affected. The blood that was only moments ago traveling along his throat has now settled notably in his cheeks, and it does nothing to ease my torment. He appears restless and fidgety, he constantly drags his long fingers through his mess of hair, and he keeps clearing his throat awkwardly and hunching over on his stool as though he were in pain.

A quick glance beneath the table soon solves that puzzle; his blood is clearly amassing rather intoxicatingly in his groin.

I consider it for a moment. He's not quite twenty-four hours out from taking my blood. It shouldn't affect him like it did last time.

"Have I given you too much again?" I ask him at the end of class, raising my brows to stress it further when he flashes me a puzzled look.

"No, I'm fine," he assures me, sounding somewhat distracted.

That's when I realize where his attention lies. Fake ID walks past us on the way out of the room, and Edward's suddenly intense eyes track his every movement. His blood's beginning to boil for a very different reason this time, and while it's as equally potent, I'm also intimately aware of what's happening to him. I walk beside him as he follows Newton, contemplating whether or not I should put a stop to this before it begins.

I decide to stand back and observe, and my red canary doesn't disappoint.

"Hey, Newton!" he calls out to him at the entrance to the gym, the tone of his voice giving nothing away.

As Fake ID turns, Edward grabs him by the scruff of his sweater and roughly drags him six feet back, before slamming him against the side wall.

"What have you been saying about her?!" he demands, leaning in within a few inches of Newton's increasingly pale and fearful face.

"N-nothing," he stutters, cowering before him with his hands raised.

"Well, why have I heard people saying that _you_ told them Bella was screwing around on me?!" Edward counters, his voice practically becoming a growl, as he draws Newton back and slams him even harder into the brick-face surface of the gym.

Newton's eyes widen, and as he shakes his head, he glances around hastily searching for whoever it was who ratted him out.

Releasing him, Edward grabs his face, much like I did the first day we met. "If you open your fucking mouth and speak her name again, you're dead—you got that?"

Fake ID immediately nods his head jerkily before Edward shoves it to the side.

"Wank," he mutters, watching Newton skulk away, a deep scowl transfixing his features. That is until he looks up and catches my gaze.

I motion him over to me with my index finger, and as his expression relaxes, he immediately complies.

"_Wank_?" I question after he stands beside me and rests his arm around my shoulders.

"You heard that?" He's surprised again, and I can only roll my eyes.

"You forgot?" I pre-empt him.

"Erm, yeah..." He slides his hand down the nape of his neck, as I sigh wearily.

"You have my keys. Don't forget, Sonny Jim, because if you go home with Rose and Emmett and leave me stranded, I will most definitely eat you for dinner."

He breaks into a sunny smile. "Can I drive again?"

I sigh a second time; it's audible and stemmed from the fray of a thousand emotions currently converging with me. None of which makes a lot of sense to me; though, exasperation, confusion, and physical desire appear to be the most prominent. It's a very strange combination. "Sure," I concede.

"Awesome."

"You'll make one heck of a vampire, bucko," I speak softly to myself as I watch him head to his next class.

**. . .**

"Bella?" Carlisle calls to me the moment Edward and I emerge from the garage. I look up at him, my eyebrows raised as he makes his way toward me. "Come into my office, please. I'd like to speak with you," he says in his usual sedate tone, making it hard to ascertain his motives.

"Okay..." I say slowly, my brow creasing. I glance over my shoulder, meeting Edward's concerned gaze. "Go hang with Emmett," I suggest, and smiling awkwardly he nods his head.

"Your mother has made him an after-school snack," Carlisle adds, smiling slightly to himself.

"Of course, she has," I say wryly.

Placing his hand to the small of my back, Carlisle leads me to his den. "Take a seat," he offers, hand outstretched as he takes his position behind his mahogany desk as though we were having a consultation.

"What's this all about?" I ask suspiciously, sitting in the leather winged-back chair regardless.

"Your brother Jasper brought it to my attention—Edward's unusual attachment to you. Granted, as two vampires, it's not that unusual, but as a human, such a young human as he is, it is..._extraordinary_," he begins, alluding to God only knows what.

"In lay terms, Carlisle, what are you saying?" I say with a frustrated sigh. Although, I can't deny my own curiosity over it, either.

"In lay terms, the two of you have..._imprinted_." He clears his throat, well aware of how it sounds and how it's going to be received.

"..._What_?" I utter in barely a whisper and with as much disbelief as repulsion by the very idea of it. "_We_ do not imprint, in case you've forgotten."

"I realize that and I don't mean it in the same sense as werewolves, but it's the closest term to explain what happened between the two of you."

"What exactly does that mean?" I demand, fighting to keep my voice hushed, but I'm under no illusions that the five other vampires in the house aren't all listening intently to our conversation. "Don't you think I would have realized..._something_, the first day I met him?!"

"It didn't happen until you took in his blood, and he...took in yours," he explains, sighing and bowing his head momentarily. "It only happens when a human's blood sings to a vampire. It's exceedingly rare because the vast majority of the time a vampire will kill their singer unwittingly, but the moment you both drank each other's blood it connected you with an intangible, unbreakable force."

"So, what does all this mean?" I raise my arms and allow them to drop to my sides helplessly. His demeanor is beginning to concern me.

"It means we should turn Edward as soon as possible. If something happens to him, you will...lose the will to live; as Edward will if we lose you."

"He's too young to be turned," I state, my troubled thoughts drifting to the boy in my room, waiting for me to have that talk with him.

"In five months, he'll be twenty years old. He's the perfect age," he counters patiently, clasping his hands together on the surface of his desk.

"He has no idea what it means!" I suddenly yell out in despair. "You can't do it to him yet! It's_ cruel_!"

"Bella," he sighs again as if collecting himself, "he _wants_ to be turned. He wants to be with you."

I can only stare at him for a moment, before laughing ironically to myself. "So, that's why he can't explain it..." I mumble, shaking my head. "He thinks he loves me but he doesn't... Our blood has just..._connected_."

"It draws you together, that is correct, but it does not control your emotions. For example, if Edward was female, it wouldn't necessarily lead to a romantic relationship between the two of you. Those inclinations have to be present first," he attempts to rationalize.

"Are there other cases that you know of?" I ask, beginning to feel numb.

"Yes." He nods his head solemnly.

"And?"

"Some are mated. Some are companions."

"Are you telling me what I want to hear, Carlisle?" I ask calmly. Too calmly. But beneath the surface of my skin, I am everything _but _calm.

"Of course not, Bella." There's an edge of frustration in his voice. "Edward confessed his feelings for you well before you first fed him your blood."

"Good God, is there anything in this house that's sacred?!" I burst, angered by the lack of privacy that goes with living among six other vampires.

A small smirk edges on his lips. "Unfortunately, no."

"For Christ's sake!" I say, running my palm over my forehead and into my hair, but I'm at a loss for words.

"Bella..." My eyes meet his helplessly, and with an empathetic smile, he continues, "Are there any doubts in your mind that Edward is your mate?"

I'm shaking my head before that one word can pass my lips. "No."

* * *

**A/N: I did promise you she'd begin to soften. Well, as much as she's capable of, anyway. Anywho, I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading. **


	22. Chapter 21

**A/N: Stay safe, everyone. **

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 21**

When I return to my room, unable to even begin processing this latest revelation, I find Edward lazing on my chaise eating a banana.

"Hey," he greets me, pulling himself hastily upright. "Is everything okay?" he asks hesitantly, his gaze closely canvassing my expression. He constantly attempts to see into my mind now; I'm starting to think he does it subconsciously.

"It's fine." I reply with an internalized sigh, sitting beside him.

"What did Dr. Cullen want?" His concern is obvious, and this is despite the fact that he offers me a bite of his banana.

Scoffing, I brush his hand away and pull myself to my feet. I'm restless and I don't like it.

"Bella..."

"He thinks we should change you as soon as possible," I inform him, omitting anything else. _That _he doesn't need to know about right now.

He immediately lunges to his feet beside me, his breath accelerating. "What? _Now_?"

"_Now_?" I echo, raising a very pointed brow.

"I-I mean...when?" He's flustered. Agitated. He should be.

"He's leaving it up to me," I murmur, my gaze dropping to the floor.

"Are you really...?" He doesn't finish, and it's not exactly hard to guess why. He's fearful of the answer.

"It's _inevitable_," I say with a little too much impatience behind my voice. "You'll be living with us, and I can't guarantee Aro won't kill you even if I do go to Volterra."

"Does that mean...?" Again he abandons it, but not before a small smile tugs on his lips.

I huff this time and fold my arms across my chest, turning to face him. "Just because I'm not happy with you right now, doesn't mean I want to see you dead."

His smile widens, and I can only shake my head as a defense to it. He's entirely too handsome for his own good.

"Can you give me a time frame?" He ventures back into apprehension.

"Let's just get you to your next birthday first. _Then_ we'll talk about it." Releasing an arm, I rub at my brow in frustration.

"Yeah?" He's happy by the prospect.

"You won't be so cheerful about it when you're in the worst pain you can ever imagine, begging me for death," I attempt to rein in his enthusiasm.

His expression falls somewhat as he obviously pauses to considers it further. "What exactly...does it feel like?"

"I told you already."

"H-how long will it take?"

"I told you_ that_, as well. It differs for everyone. It could last ten hours or three days. Esme compares it to going through labor, except we're essentially giving birth to ourselves." I scoff cynically to myself over how ridiculous it is. If labor was even half as horrific as becoming a vampire, the human race would have died out thousands of years ago.

"Did she have a baby?" he asks, his voice softening. I'm beginning to suspect he loves her already, and it's more than reciprocated.

"Yes."

"What...happened to it?"

"He died of pneumonia."

"Shit," he mumbles. "Did she catch it, as well?"

"More or less," I say vaguely. It's not my place to reveal intimate details surrounding my mother's transformation, after all.

"You said if you drain me first it will be quicker?" he veers back to the topic at hand, his heavily furrowed brow giving away his growing unease.

"Yes, that's true." I nod once.

"Will you do that to me?"

I shake my head, my thoughts straying. This is all happening too fast, and I can barely comprehend the idea of him going through it. "I'll let Carlisle take care of it."

"But, Bella...I want your blood to—"

"I'll give you my blood," I assure him, "but you won't be drinking from me directly. Carlisle will oversee it."

"So...it'll be like a transfusion..." he surmises.

"Essentially, and I trust Carlisle. He's the oldest. The strongest..."

"I thought Emmett was." He nudges me with his shoulder as half a smile appears fleetingly on my lips.

"Mentally, I was referring to."

"Hm..." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "So, if I'm going through _labor_"—he grimaces—"are you going to be there to hold my hand?"

"Good God, no. I'll be _very_ far away."

He falters, frowning. "W-what...?"

"I've seen it once and I'm never witnessing it again," I admit seriously, and my convictions are rock solid. I watched Jane turn a human in my first decade as an immortal. I've never recovered.

"Is it..._bad_?" His expression becomes pained, the volume of his voice notably dropping.

"You'll gain your strength midway through, and you will break your own bones in an attempt to end it. Not to mention, everything in your stomach will be expelled, and everything in your bowel and bladder, as well." I'm brutally honest, he deserves me to be, even as all color steadily drains from his face.

"_Jesus_..." he utters, swallowing thickly. "Okay, I want to be out like you were."

"I_ told_ you," I remind him again. "You will still feel every _second_ of it."

"Still, I'd rather not traumatize you, and I...I don't want you to see me...like that..."

I observe him for a moment, before snorting dryly.

"What?" he asks blankly.

"You and your pride..."

Breaking into a full grin, he hooks his elbow around my neck and pulls me to him. I allow it, even as I consciously hold my breath. Animal blood did nothing but heighten my craving for his. "Well, I am a nineteen year old _idiot boy_, aren't I?" he jokes in imitation of me.

"Okay, I'm a horrible _mistress_," I concede, inching myself back from him.

"Mistress?" he repeats dubiously, his brows rising. "Do I still have to sign the contract?"

"No," I answer, as his expression immediately falls, and rolling my eyes, I'm forced to reassure him. "You're being turned within a year, there's no point. We still have to notify the Volturi, though."

"So, they don't put out a hit on me, right?" For whatever reason, he finds this amusing.

"Essentially," I say wryly. "I'm beginning to understand why Emmett gets on so well with you." I poke him gently in the side and pull myself fully from his arms.

"So...you've forgiven me?" he asks after a pause of smiling broadly down at me. I'm convinced he's doing it deliberately, and I wouldn't put it past Alice giving him pointers on how to get around my defenses.

"I told you..." I sigh in exasperation. "You haven't done anything to me to forgive," I repeat my stance.

"So...am I still your boyfriend?" he ventures, his smile becoming toothy.

"Good God..." I mutter.

"Am I?"

"I _guess_!" I snap. "Now stop bothering me!"

"And you're gonna be nice to me from now on, right?" This boy really doesn't know when to quit while he's ahead.

"Don't push your luck!"

He laughs, not the slightest bit threatened by me.

"Come here." I sit back down on my chaise and motion to him.

"What...?" he asks, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Just get over here!"

He raises his hands to me and complies, and he's back to oozing with self-assurance. It's my least favorite side of him. "What?"

"Tell me how you got into a..._relationship_"—my voice restricts—"with Miss Promiscuity."

"Lauren?" he says simply.

"Who else?"

He tilts his head and rubs his chin in thought for a moment. "I was going out with Kate."

"Kate?" I echo skeptically.

"Yeah...why?"

"What happened to her?"

"She was a senior when I was a junior even though we were pretty much the same age," he explains.

"_And_...?"

"She graduated," he shrugs simply.

"Where'd she go?"

"..._Why_?" he eventually pauses and gauges me closely.

"Do you remember when you said you saw me in a car with two people?" I leave it open-ended in deliberate emphasis.

"Yeah..." His expression suddenly smooths out in shock before it inevitably morphs into complete horror. "Jesus, Bella—did you kill her?!"

"Was she a redhead?"

"No. A blonde."

"Then, I didn't kill her."

"Fuck..." he mutters, taking on a vacant expression.

"Were you in love with her?" My tone stiffens. I am not liking the direction this conversation is going. At all.

"She...she was my first real girlfriend. I wasn't in love with her, but I _liked_ her."

"Hmm..." I turn my gaze from him and stare blankly at the wall.

"...Are you angry?" he asks indecisively.

"Why would I be angry?" I assert glancing back at him.

He shrugs, looking suddenly apprehensive.

"Go on," I urge him.

"Oh..." he mumbles, lowering his head to run his palm along the back of his neck.

I smile this time; I can't help it. He notices, and all too soon his smile is mirroring mine. I very nearly demand what he finds so funny. "Are you going to continue?" I put to him, arching my brow again.

"Uh, yeah, well, she went to college, and I...missed her. I mean, I missed...having sex."

I groan explicitly.

"I mean, it was a good distraction," he hastens to explain.

"Continue." I inhale sharply through my nose and hold it. This boy and sex...I realize it's his age, but it's ad nauseam to say the least.

"During the summer I was at a party and Lauren was there. We were both pretty wasted, and we ended up..." He doesn't elaborate, but then he doesn't need to.

"And that's it?" I say, both eyebrows raised high this time.

"Well, yeah—I mean, we tried dating, but...she was too possessive."

"And she let you get rough with her," I repeat his own words.

He half shrugs and nods his head in halfhearted admittance. "Yeah..."

"You used sex as a distraction," I infer, gazing at him squarely.

"Y-yeah..." He's suddenly nervous. "Are...you angry with me?" he repeats, drifting into obvious uncertainty.

"No," I state matter-of-factly. "I simply wanted to understand your thought process."

"Ah..." He nods his head slowly, but a smirk is beginning to twitch on his lips.

Sighing loudly for his benefit, I tilt my head, prompting him to explain himself.

"What happened in Bio?" he goes with another angle; one I wasn't expecting.

"You got hot under the collar and it triggered my thirst," I answer, straight to the point. "I told you—I've been feeding from animals for longer than I have ever suffered before."

He appears to consider if for a moment. "You can drink from me if you want. I don't mind."

"How generous of you," I say sarcastically. This isn't the first time he's offered his blood to me, and I'm not naive to think there isn't anything sexual behind it.

"I mean, you know...you can take a _sip_." He leans fractionally toward me and raises his brows entirely too suggestively.

Planting my palm to his chest, I ease him back. "Be very careful, bucko."

"Jesus…You're a real hard one to crack," he says lightly, scoffing to himself.

"_Apparently_," I reply, my voice taking on a hard edge.

He gazes at me in confusion for a moment, and it takes him a lot longer than it really should have for him to realize his faux pas. "Oh—fuck!" he blurts when it eventually dawns on him. "Bella...I—I didn't mean. I mean—I'm _so_ sorry!" he starts to ramble, but raising to my feet with an exasperated huff, I leave the room, and him, behind me.

**. . .**

I've realized ignoring Edward is completely counter-productive. Even under the same roof, he will throw himself at my feet. I can barely reconcile with it, and it only appears to validate Carlisle's latest theory. On top of which, Emmett and Esme lay the blame solely on me for his tantrums.

"This is emotional _blackmail_!" I yell at him after opening my bedroom door, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, and dragging him inside. "You cannot behave like this! It's not_ rational_!"

He literally sat outside my door for seven hours straight. He didn't speak a word, but there was no mistaking his constant shadow beneath my door. He didn't budge an inch.

"How else am I supposed to get you to talk to me when you ignore me?" he hollers back.

"By giving me space, you idiot boy—good Lord! You are _driving_ me _insane_!"

"Stop calling me a fucking _BOY_!" he rages, his voice almost matching mine in tenor and emotion.

I pause, glaring at him pointedly and expelling an indignant breath. "If I were you, I would seriously reconsider this direction you're taking," I warn him with deathly calm. I have never tolerated a boy speaking to me like this before, and I could so easily snap and kill him without conscious decision.

His expression turns blank, and he blinks as though catching himself, before he huffs sharply through his nose and folds his arms across his chest. "Are you punishing me—is that it?" he accuses me, and as well as his obvious anger, he's also hurt.

"_Punishing you_?" I echo in disbelief, shaking my head to myself.

"Well, why won't you let me clear my name!" he declares, his voice coming infinitely close to breaking.

"Because I don't want to know!" I blurt before I can stop myself. "I don't want you to give me another reason to be angry at you!"

"But...you're still angry about it, and it's...getting in the way," he appeals to me. "Please, Bella..."

"Okay, _fine_!" I burst, but my frustration isn't directed at him this time. I realize I have to hear him out if I'm ever going to move forward with him. "But not here."

"...Will...will we need Emmett?" he asks, his entire expression flooding with apprehension.

I very nearly laugh. "_No_, we won't need Emmett."

"Okay," he mumbles, swinging an arm toward the door. "After you."

"I've noticed something about you," Edward speaks up after about a mile of walking along the forest path south toward the Sol Duc River.

"Oh, yeah?" I glance over my shoulder and meet his eyes. He's a pace behind, and despite wearing a parka and a beanie on his head, he's cold; openly so.

"Yeah. You only blush after you've fed," he replies with a strange ironic smile on his lips.

I stare at him for a moment, my brow knotting by how confounding I still find him. "You say the strangest things, sometimes." I remark.

"Well, I'm not as _esoteric_ as you are, obviously," he teases.

"Despite how much I've told you—how much you've seen?" I arch a brow.

His smile inches broader and he shrugs a single shoulder. "It's still weird."

"Hmm..."

"Can I ask you something else?" he ventures, stepping in line with me.

"You usually do."

"Why'd your family move here?—to Forks, I mean." He shoves his hands in his pockets and hunches his shoulders in an obvious effort to preserve his warmth.

We walk for several steps before I offer him an answer. "Because, Alice had a vision..."

"...Of me?"

"Yes. Of you." I take a heavy breath and release it. It still seems so outlandish to me.

"But...you told me you were going to kill me the day we met." He frowns as if recalling it, and I smile discreetly to myself.

"Obviously, I didn't know anything about it," I clarify.

"Or you would have...killed me?" he theorizes, and when I turn to look at him, he throws me another smile, only there's something vulnerable about it.

"_Not_ gone along with it," I correct him.

He hums, not sounding altogether convinced.

"In case you've forgotten, I don't have a very high opinion of boys of your caliber," I remind him, turning back to look ahead of me.

"_My caliber_?" he repeats, confused.

"The top of the high school pecking order," I reply expressly. This isn't the first time I've had this conversation with him, after all.

"You mean, _popular_?"

"Have you ever seen the movie _Mean Girls_?" I ask, turning to glance at him again.

He scoffs as if he thinks it's ridiculous. "_No_."

"You should," I say simply.

He appears to appraise it for a moment. "I mean, just because someone's popular, doesn't mean they're necessarily an asshole."

"The two are usually synonymous."

He descends into silence for several moments before he speaks up again. "So, what were the popular kids at your school like?"

"They were pretty much the same as they are now. Some things never change."

He expels his breath softly through his nose and I look up in time to see an askew grin pull on his lips. "You were smart right? Were you on the...student counsel?" he asks after meeting my gaze.

I half smirk to myself but don't hang onto it. "No. I didn't really..._fit_ into any subgroup."

"Did you kill them...after?" he switches tangents entirely too candidly, and not at all out of the ordinary. He's becoming too complacent again.

"No," I admit just as forthright. "After Rose, Esme refused to let it happen again."

"...What did Rose do?" he asks, his tone lowering with obvious curiosity.

"She slaughtered her fiancé and four of his friends."

"_Shit_." His voice practically fails. "What did he do to her?"

"Ask her. She's not shy about admitting it. She likes telling that story, actually."

"Alright..." he says dubiously. "How far are you—" he begins when I immediately freeze and grab him impulsively behind me. "What...?" he asks, confused and slightly alarmed by my reaction.

My head whips in every direction, my eyes closely scanning the surroundings for the vampire I can sense nearby. "There's another..." Is all I offer.

"Sweet Bella," Jane's voice emerges from the forest, just as she materializes before us. It causes Edward to practically jump out of his skin before he attempts to shield me—as ridiculous as that even is.

"Jane the virgin," I say in greeting, grinning broadly.

Jane's curious gaze pulls from Edward to meet mine. "God, you smell awful—still drinking animal blood?" She takes me momentarily into her arms and plants her lips briefly to my cheek.

"Just temporarily. What the hell are you doing here?" I say wryly, but not without affection.

"I'm on vacation. So"—her eyes fix back to Edward—"this is your famous little red canary. It's nice to finally meet you." She extends her hand, and apprehensively, Edward reciprocates.

"Hey. You haven't changed..." he mumbles, sounding slightly dazed.

"Pardon me?" Jane replies, turning to me for explanation, a notable smirk on her lips.

"I mean..." he attempts to clarify shaking his head rapidly as though ridding himself from his distraction.

"He often forgets," I speak on his behalf with an audible sigh.

"_Forget_s...?" She echoes dubiously, her eyes again meeting mine for interpretation.

I can only shake my head in answer. I can barely comprehend him, let alone explain him.

"Come here," Jane instructs him, curling her index finger slowly in his direction.

He hesitates, looking from her to me with obvious uncertainty. "Bella..." he murmurs to me.

"She won't hurt you," I assure him, my voice just as soft, though Jane hears every word.

"Of course I won't." She again holds out her hand, and when Edward takes it, she coaxes him closer to her. "Let me smell..."

"I'm sorry?" He glances at me, a helpless look on his face.

I can only smile and nod my head slightly in further reassurance.

Rising on her toes, Jane leans toward him and inhales deeply, while Edward keeps his eyes fixed to mine in obvious discomfort.

"A-positive. I prefer negative," she concludes, pulling back, "but"—taking his chin in her thumb and fingers she moves his face in every angle as she inspects him further—"he is rather handsome."

"Erm...thanks." He blushes.

"So, what are you _really_ doing here?" I put to her cynically after she releases him.

Edward stumbles toward me, and taking his hand, I edge him behind me. Jane poses no threat to him, but I'm on guard, and my instincts are heightened. I've never been this way around Jane before. Ever.

"Alice called me," she relays, and I'm immediately suspicious.

"..._Why_?" My eyes narrow, while standing beside me, Edward slips an arm around my shoulders. I'm not sure of his intentions, whether it's for his protection or mine, but it's only making me more conscious of him.

"About taking an unregistered human to Eclipse." She nods her head subtly in reference to him as the smirk steadily returns to her lips.

"To where...?" Edward asks.

"I'm here to tag along and make sure he stays safe."

"Bella...you're taking me where?" Edward attempts again.

"What did Alice see?" I ask her, reaching up and squeezing his hand in an effort to placate him.

"Nothing, as far as I'm aware. Me being there will be a precaution, and remember the fun we had last time?" she reminds me, breaking into a full grin this time.

"I remember," I reply ruefully, before turning to Edward. "Would you like a crash course in being a vampire?"

"...Are you going to light me on fire?" he asks, and for the life of me, I'm uncertain whether he's serious or just joking around. He's beginning to appear... disorientated.

"What kind of question is that?" I state as Jane snorts.

"Erm..." He rubs the back of his neck, his eyes flitting to Jane's. "Sorry."

"It's a _vampire_ bar," Jane explains. "It might help you decide how you want to live as an immortal."

"Ah..." His gaze returns to mine. "Bella..."

"Edward..." I imitate him.

"Will I be safe?" he whispers again, as if he's not already aware that Jane can hear every word.

"Of course, you will be!" I retort, affronted by his assertions. "Do you honestly think I'd allow any harm to come to you?" It's not a question, and he smiles regardless.

"There are very few vampires who would take on Bella," Jane adds, finding great amusement in her own words. "The girl is crazy, but to be absolutely certain, that's where I come in."

"What powers...do you have?" Edward asks after gazing at her steadily for a several seconds too long. It's not hard to guess why; he's gauging her mind.

"I can show you if you'd like," she offers.

"I'm shielding him!" I inform her, the warning behind my voice clear.

She laughs. "She has no sense of humor, has she, Edward?"

I glance at him in time to see a grin form across his face in complete agreement. I huff. "You caught us in the middle of something, Jane. Go to the house. I'll see you there soon."

"Okay, say no more," she complies, once again pulling me to her. "It's good to see you again, sweet Bella," she speaks in my ear in a tenor only I can hear, "and mother of God, will he make one _beautiful_ vampire."

"Hmm..." I murmur in full acknowledgement, fighting to hold back my smile.

"Wow," Edward mumbles more or less to himself when Jane takes her leave.

Turning to him, I raise my eyebrows in question.

"I think you're right," he adds, an almost shrewd smile twitching on his lips.

"About?" We continue walking.

"She definitely bats for the other team." He scoffs in an obvious effort to hold back his laughter.

"Why is that funny?" I put to him.

"It's not," he shrugs indifferently. "I can just imagine a lot of guys being disappointed, that's all."

"Why? Because she's beautiful? Hmm?"

"_Yeah_," he replies as if it were common knowledge, like a typical teenage boy. In this respect, he has the depth of a puddle.

"When we go to Eclipse, you're going to realize that there are no ugly vampires," I forewarn him.

He's silent for a moment when I feel his fingers lightly in my hair. "You know I think you're the most beautiful, don't you?"

"Oh?" I reply, fighting off the smile. I am a lot more susceptible to his compliments than I'm comfortable with.

"Yeah, I mean, you're pretty scary," his smile is infectious, and I'm infinitely close to joining him, "and there's this untamed...fire behind your eyes, but it only makes you..." His words die off as his mind obviously strays.

"Only makes me...?" I prompt him to continue.

"Beautiful," he says simply, and when I glance up at him, his entire expression relaxes.

"Are you trying to charm me?" I ask skeptically.

He drops his head and exhales shortly through his nose, almost laughing. "Is it working?"

"No, but I like that you try." I smile secretively to myself.

"Will it ever work?" he goes with a new angle.

"Maybe..." I allude. "Okay. Here's far enough." I stop him by a small clearing with a large collection of exposed rock surrounded by ferns and other vegetation. Escaping out from under his arm, I sit myself against the largest and wait for him.

He's nervous and he's stalling, it's obvious, and before joining me, he presses the heel of his palm against one eye and rubs laboriously.

"Okay," he begins, approaching me and leaning against the boulder beside me, expelling a momentous-sounding breath. "After I got out of Juvie...we moved here..." he mumbles, his eyes fixed to the forest floor.

"Because no one knew you here," I state the obvious, and when he looks up and meets my eyes, he smiles ironically.

"Yeah... My dad wanted me to have...a fresh start, I guess." Jamming both fists in the pockets of his jacket, he raises both shoulders. "I didn't speak to James while he was in jail. It wasn't until he got out that he contacted me."

"Was it through Facebook?" I ask.

Sucking in his cheeks, he nods first before answering, "Yeah. I didn't reply, and he started getting pissed. That's when he threatened to tell everyone here about what happened, so I played along." He shrugs again.

"Played along?" I echo.

"He was always talking shit, so that's what I did, too."

"And he always contacted you first?" I query. I want to be absolutely sure I'm getting this straight.

"Yeah, always." His voice drops in volume.

"You mentioned me by name," I remind him. "You couldn't have just made something up?"

He turns his head, his eyes resting on mine for a moment; they're beseeching. He wants me to believe him, I realize. "It was during Spanish class just after I took you to the nurse. I was so..._blown away_ by you, but you seemed to really hate me. I was almost worried that you knew about me, and I guess...I was just going on the defensive." He shrugs his shoulders a third time, and releases his breath along with them. He appears to be wrestling with a certain culpability, but it's not only that, and I'm not sure what else it is.

"Hmm... Aside from Lauren, were you in the habit of _fucking girls and then moving on_?" I quote him.

He half laughs flatly, and turns to stare into the forest beyond us. "No. It was just Lauren."

"Does she know?—what happened?"

He shakes his head, distracted. "No."

"Did Kate?"

"No. Only you know." His gaze returns to me.

I don't reply, and he only continues to stare at me, his eyes penetrating; no doubt trying to get behind my shield.

With a conscious breath, I lower it. His eyes immediately widen in surprise, until slowly his entire expression warms and a smile pulls broad across his face. In fact, he appears so cheerful that I snap it back in position, feeling flustered and self-conscious.

"What did you see?" I ask, severing my eyes from his, uncertain I want the answer.

"Bella..." his voice is soft and I can't be sure of the context behind it, but his body temperature is steadily rising. That I _can _detect, "it hasn't happened yet. Is it...something you want?"

* * *

**A/N: I wonder what he saw... ;)  
Thanks to Kim, Melinda and Leigh, and thanks for reading. **


	23. Chapter 22

**A/N: I'm beginning to forget what day of the bloody week it is...  
Hope you're all staying safe and germ-free. **

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 22**

"I say we run. I can carry him," Emmett suggests, turning to Edward and winking.

"Carry me..." Edward echoes dubiously, as I immediately cut in unimpressed.

"Carry him?! Have you heard of terminal velocity, you doofus?" I blurt. "He would never be able to hold on and the speed would knock him unconscious."

"Bella..._what_?" Edward asks, leaning toward me, his voice instilled with uncertainty.

I shake my head slowly to placate him.

"Driving will take _forever_," Emmett complains, folding his brawny arms across his chest, his biceps practically tearing the material of his shirt.

We're assembled in the garage, debating our means of transport. Driving is the only reasonable alternative with Edward coming, but it's been awhile since Em has been out in the vampire nightlife and he's antsy.

"I am not ruining my dress because you're impatient," Rose adds her objection, stroking her brow with her fingertips.

"Me either," I agree. I'm dressed almost as scantily as Rose in a tight, black dress and obscenely high heels, but I relented and allowed Alice to play dress up with me. Jane flat out refused. The day before she went shopping with Rose, and they bonded in Niemen Marcus.

Though, despite Alice's _over-enthusiasm_, she knows her craft. Edward took one look at me and lost all expression from his face. His mouth fell open, his pupils dilated, while that hot, aromas blood of his steadily amassed, sweeter than honey, in his groin. If I fail to hold out tonight, _that _will be the point of entry I'll sink my fangs into.

Alice made over him as well. She dressed him in a long-sleeved plaid cotton shirt, and tweed vest with brown chinos—that he pulls off with barely any effort. If not for the warmth of his human blood pulsating through his veins, he's almost handsome enough to pass as a vampire.

"It will take an hour and a half at the most, and I'll alert you ahead of time," Alice assures with a minimal grin. Her foresight comes in handy when it's not being used to interfere in my life; namely how to evade speeding tickets. She's coming, as well. Without Jasper. The temptation would be too great for him. I'm not sure what she saw, but it was almost a definite that he unleashed his inner beast.

"Time's-a-wasting," Jane speaks up with a sigh. "Let's just decide and get going."

Jane is almost unrecognizable in midnight blue; her hair loose around her slim shoulders. She rivals Rose in beauty, and had she surpassed her, Rose wouldn't be nearly as accommodating.

"Fine," Emmett concedes. "Me, Rose and Alice will go in the merc—Bella, Edward and Jane in the Mustang."

"Thank god," Rose mutters.

"Can I drive?" Edward puts to me, his eyes lighting up at the prospect, as I scoff out my opposition.

"Definitely not. You'll kill yourself." At the speed I plan on traveling, at least.

He grumbles not nearly as beneath his breath as he believes as Jane turns to me and smirks in amusement.

"I need to get myself one of these," she says covertly to me.

"They're prone to tantrums," I relay to her, smiling to myself as Edward pulls himself beside me in the front passenger seat, continuing to pout. "If you like my car so much, I'll give it to you," I relent with a sigh, slotting the key in the ignition.

He turns to me, his mouth agape. "Holy shit—really?"

"_Really_," I repeat in monotone, before shifting into reverse and pulling out.

**. . .**

Eclipse is cleverly concealed in the grotto of St. James Cathedral in downtown Seattle; it's main entrance six-hundred feet west in the basement of the Sorrento Hotel. Both the nightclub and the turn of the 20th century hotel belong to Peter and Charlotte; Jasper's close friends whom he lived with briefly before finding Alice.

From the underground carpark of the hotel, we file into an elevator that takes us to the service room a story below. At the end is a steel door, accessible only by fingerprint. Jane presses her thumb to the censor and the door unlocks. It opens to a dim, stone hall roughly fifty feet in length with a second door at its conclusion. Again, via a fingerprint scanner, we pass through, but not before Jane types the number of our company in the adjoining keypad.

The door opens to a long winding passageway at least two centuries old. It's brightly lit and ventilated, despite the air being tainted by the dust of limestone lining the walls, and as we descend further, mine, Jane, Alice and Rose's clicking stiletto heels travel in echo ahead of us. Security cameras align the ceiling every thirty feet, or so; something Edward pretends he doesn't notice. It leads us down several small flights of stone stairs to the entrance of what was once a burial vault at least fifty feet beneath the foundation of the church. It hasn't been accessible to the cathedral in more than a century, and Peter had it expansively extended not long after taking ownership of the hotel.

At the end of the tunnel, a vampire guards the ornate, double olivewood doors to the entrance. This is when Edward's anxiety becomes almost palpable. He's gripping my hand tightly, his palm hot and clammy in mine. I don't acknowledge it, nor do I bring it to his attention; he has entirely too much pride. Especially in front of Emmett.

"Who does this belong to?" the bouncer, Jerome, demands, grabbing Edward's wrist and scanning for a chip.

"_He_ belongs to me!" I assert indignantly, reaching out and tearing the vampire's fingers from him. "So _hands off_!" I threaten him.

"_You_?" His eyes widen with disbelief before a raucous laugh bursts from him. "You have a pet? It's a little early for April Fools, Bella."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" I reply dryly, coldly. "And he's not my pet!"

"He's not registered, so what is he?" He eyes Edward closely, before his ruby gaze returns to mine.

"He's her mate," Emmett speaks up, "And you better be careful, man. She's possessive."

"Mate?" He's suspicious.

"Yes, mate," Jane steps forward and intervenes. "He'll be turned within the year. Aro knows this, of course."

Immediately recognizing her, the guard almost falls over himself in appeasement. "Of course, Jane. Of course. What is his status?"

"If anyone lays a finger on him, I'll rip their damn head off—is his status!" I say, my convictions solid and seeped with warning, but at the entrance is where all humans are categorized as either food, pet, or untouchable. I want my position on Edward made clear.

"Pink," Jane replies calmly, unable to hide the smirk from her lips.

"Hand out," the bouncer directs Edward, before placing a neon pink band around his wrist. On his other he tapes a paper strip in the same shade with the words "Bella Swan's. Do not touch," written on it in black marker.

One of three bands are given to humans before they may enter. Pink means absolutely no vampire may approach without permission. Yellow is for pets where a vampire may ask the human if their owner gives permission to drink from them, and green is for those provided as a feeding source; though, no humans are allowed to be killed on the premise.

While Peter feeds from humans, he doesn't kill them, and he extends these principles to his places of business. Everything else, though, is up to the discretion of the security he keeps in charge.

Opening both doors wide, Jerome allows us entrance. We file inside in pairs, with Jane and Alice leading, and me and Edward bringing up the rear.

We enter onto a long, carpeted foyer with seating and bathrooms on both sides that several humans occupy; some with puncture wounds on their necks or wrists, and some without. All are wearing yellow wrist bands. They look up as we enter; their curious eyes almost immediately zeroing in on Edward. Though, if he's aware of it, he doesn't make it known. He stares straight ahead; his hand clamped around mine like a vice. He's openly tense and nervous, but until he realizes for himself how safe he is with us, there's not really anything I can say or do to put him at ease.

At the end of the foyer, double glass doors open to the club itself. Inside, Eclipse resembles any other nightclub in the city. It's large, at least ten thousand square feet, and fog hovers over the hardwood floor throughout. A dancefloor and DJ covers the far end of the room, and at the opposite is a bar that parallels almost the entire rear wall. For the most part the room is dark, with LED lights in every color around the bar, and laser projectors over the dancefloor.

It's busy tonight; at least two hundred vampires are present.

"Okay, _down_," Alice orders, turning to me the moment we enter, and with a small sigh, I comply and lower my shield. "Still good," she flashes me a reassuring grin.

I reciprocate it, and immediately snap it back in place, covering not only me and Edward but the entire room. While I'm slowly introducing him into the world he'll soon be a part of, he doesn't need to be aware of everything in one night. "Check every half an hour," I instruct her in a volume only she can hear.

She nods covertly, and claps her hands together in excitement. "So? Drinks?"

"Vodka, A-negative," I put in my order.

"Bud Light," Edward speaks up after me, distracted as his eyes continue to scan his surroundings warily. He's attempting, and failing, to read the minds of the vampires that pass us. All of whom peer at him for a pause too long before glancing down at the band on his wrist.

Pink—off limits.

"Soda," I override him.

"Bella..." He sighs, and turns to face me.

"You're underage," I point out.

"So are you!" He smiles subtly.

"Am I?"

"You're taking me to a bar only to act like my mother?" He cocks a brow and his point is immediately made.

"Get him what he wants," I inform Alice, and when she and Emmett head to the bar, Jane and Rose head further into the club searching for seats. Grabbing Edward's hand and pulling him after me, I follow.

Almost every female vampire in the room notices him—as well as several males, for that matter. More than a few wink at him as we pass, glancing at his band as their red eyes almost instantly flash with disappointment. Edward only smiles awkwardly and inches himself closer to me. He's not even remotely comfortable, and when Rose finds us a set of leather couches against the east-facing wall from the entrance to occupy he pulls me onto his lap.

"What are you doing?" I enquire, bemused.

"Keeping you close."

"You believe I'm in danger?"

"I..." he falters, casting his eyes around the room nervously. "I'm just keeping you close." He's adamant.

I smile, scoffing past it and relax a little in his arms as I do.

"I feel like I'm at Rivendell," he confesses in my ear. "Except all the elves have red eyes."

"Tolkien's elves are tall. I'm not. _162_, remember?" I jog his memory, smiling wryly to myself as I snake an arm around his shoulders and lean closer to him. He smells obscenely appealing. I don't usually enjoy the smell of male perfumes—it camouflages their natural scent—but whatever Edward's wearing perfectly complements the opaque richness of his blood.

"You're still beautiful..." His returning smile is warm and echoing my amusement, but it's fleeting, before his guarded eyes continue to scan the room.

"Would you relax?"

"I _am _relaxed," he insists, even as the nervous tenor in his voice betrays him.

"You think either one of us would let anything happen to you? Hm?" I slide the back of my fingers over his cheekbone.

"I-I know," he stammers, nodding. He clears his throat a second time in an obvious effort to divert his thoughts. "So why did the guy at the front almost lose his shit when he saw Jane?"

"Because Jane can take down every vampire in this room. Apart from me," I fill him in, grinning partially to myself.

His eyes widen as he appears to consider it further. "Because...you're a shield." he says after a moment.

"Because I'm a shield."

"What's Jane?" He turns his curious eyes squarely to mine.

"Jane can inflict pain with her mind," I answer, knowing she's listening in. In a lot of ways she's as vain as Rose.

Edward's expression immediately smooths out in surprise. "Shit..."

"That's why other vampire's fear her. That and because she's one of Aro's henchmen," I explain.

"_Henchmen_?" she pauses from her conversation with Rose to feign offense.

"Have you left that old fossil, yet?" I point out in emphasis.

"All in good time, and I can't take down _anyone_ while you're shielding them all." There's a teasing protest in her voice.

"Go and mingle. You might find your mate," I propose, my smile mirroring hers.

"I'd have better luck enrolling at your high school," she says drolly.

"Well, Edward does know a few girls who might interest you," I say, fighting off the urge to laugh when her expression immediately sours.

"You amuse me not, sweet Bella." She prods me with her elbow. "Though, I wasn't aware Alice had a gift for locating beautiful humans. What's your heritage, sweetie?" Her burgundy eyes rest on Edward and narrow slightly with interest.

"Huh?—oh, erm...English. Bella...?"

"Hmm...?"

"I've been to the British Isles. I found nothing," Jane adds with a mocking pout.

"Why am I the only one wearing a pink band?" he leans forward and asks softly against my ear.

"Because, as Emmett said, I'm possessive—you won't find anything in _half a_ _day_." I reference Jane's habit of rushing back to her maker.

She scoffs as if she thinks I'm being ridiculous before continuing her conversation with Rose.

"So...all their owners don't care if another vampire bites them," Edward concludes, appearing increasingly troubled.

"More or less," I reply, turning my attention back to him.

"That's pretty...shit," he mumbles, running a hand over his forehead and pushing back his hair.

"For the human, yes," I agree. "And I'm not your owner."

He holds up his wrist, highlighting the paper band with my name on it in direct contradiction. "This says I am."

"They don't have a category for human mates in transition."

"Is that what I am?" he asks, suddenly appearing uncertain. And curious.

This boy...

I scrutinize him for a moment. "Are you hard of hearing?"

He breaks into an immediate grin. "Why do you always say that?"

"Because, you say the oddest things. It often makes me wonder."

"It's just, you were dead against me becoming a vampire. You only wanted me to sign the contract and live with your family, remember?"

"I haven't forgotten," I murmur turning my head away from him; I know where this conversation is heading.

"Then you kill my cousin and now you've suddenly done a one-eighty."

"And?"

"Is it guilt?"

"_Guilt_?" I echo, irritated that he could even suggest such a thing. "Do you believe I am the sort of person who would do _anything_ out of guilt?—not to mention guilt for killing _that male_?"

"No, but—"

"I'm not talking about this," I interrupt him.

"Bella..."

"My name again..." I have the sudden urge to groan to myself; it's not something I'm prone to.

"It's just...I'm in the dark." His voice softens. "I just want to know why."

"Here's not exactly the most appropriate place to discuss it," I speak the obvious, clearing my throat and expressly avoiding Jane's shrewd gaze as she not-so-discreetly listens in.

"Will you tell me tomorrow?" he ventures with entirely too much hope behind his voice.

I open my mouth to reply just as Alice and Emmett arrive with the drinks, effectively saving me from the torture of it.

"Ed, man," Emmett says, offering him the bottle of Budweiser.

"Thanks," Edward says with a grin, taking it and twisting off the top to take a large gulp. With my blood in his veins, it's not likely he'll get drunk so easily, but I might still have to top him up.

"Sis," Emmett hands me a glass of A-negative. "Point-five percent vodka on the rocks." He winks.

"Grazie," I respond in kind, taking a sip from the straw dangling over the side when Edward takes it from my hand and brings it to his nose.

"You want a taste?" I ask, arching a brow and fighting back my amusement.

"Nah... Just curious," he admits, handing it back to me and taking another mouthful of his beer.

"I'm going to dance, guys," Alice announces, drink in hand, before she heads toward the crowd of revelers—vampire and human alike—at the far end of the room.

Beside us Emmett sits leisurely, one arm around Rose as he sculls the Heineken mixed with a higher ratio of human blood. It's been a long while since he's gone dark-side, and judging by the grin on his face, he has absolutely no qualms about it. Especially considering Peter sources the blood for the nightclub from a local blood bank he has shares in with Garrett.

Jane's eyes are surveying the room intently, and when she appears to settle on a particular vampire and a pair of humans, she turns to me. "I'll be back," she mouths, half a wink executing in tune with her smile.

"Have fun," I encourage her, watching as she strides—with the kind of confidence that only comes with an immortal of her stature—toward the trio sitting along the opposite wall from us.

"Can you not block everyone from me," Edward suddenly complains.

"He wants to get off on some girl on girl action," Emmett chimes in snickering.

I roll my eyes; more so at how flushed Edward's cheeks suddenly become. "Maybe next time—"

"That isn't why," he leans closer to me and insists a little too desperately.

"I believe you," I reply casually, finishing my drink and leaning forward over him to place the empty glass on the side table. I'm buzzed already. One drink at the bar here is the equivalent of drinking from three drunk humans.

"You want another one?" Edward asks, his eyes dropping to my lips before he gently wipes them with his thumb. This isn't the first time he's done this, and I momentarily pause to consider it. It's a mannerism I could be quite partial to; this subconscious tenderness he shows for me.

"I'll get it," Emmett offers a little too eagerly. He's more than up for round two.

"The same," I pre-empt his question when he pulls himself smoothly to his feet, my eyes remaining on Edward's.

"What?" He tilts his head and smiles. He's already beginning to relax and I decide a few more drinks can only be a positive for him.

"No more words games," I caution him, as his brow immediately knots in confusion. "If you want to ask me something, ask it. You don't need to test the waters for an hour first."

"What? I...don't..." Sounding wholly unconvincing he abandons it, dragging stiff fingers over his scalp and through his hair.

"You know what I'm talking about," I allude, smiling slightly to myself as blood begins to rush along his throat.

"Maybe after a few more drinks," he suggests in a mumble; severing his eyes from mine completely.

"Oh?" I consider it. "That I can arrange."

It only takes two more for Edward to be tipsy enough to start opening up. Granted, I did spike his second Budweiser with a few drops of my blood, just to help things along. As for me, I'm almost as drunk as I was when Rose and I ran into him in Port Angeles several weeks earlier. It's rapidly heightening my senses and making me increasingly conscious of him—to the feel of his large hands against my cool naked flesh, and in the intermittent plumes of heated warmth that wash over me with each breath he takes.

And, of course, how damned handsome he is even as a human.

We've been abandoned on the couch. Rose and Emmett left shortly after round two, and are currently dancing seductively on the dancefloor, completely absorbed in each other, while Alice sways lithely to the music close by, both arms above her head, her eyes closed.

Jane hasn't moved from her position opposite us, intently coveting a green-banded, human girl who appears completely enchanted by her.

"If you lower your shield, I can see which ones swing the same way as her," Edward hints, before lightly pressing his lips against the curve of my neck.

I smirk, immediately cynical by his request. "You just want to see into _my_ mind..."

"Yeah," he admits a little too easily, lifting his head to meet my eyes. His are both deepening and intensifying simultaneously, reminding me again that while he's still very much a boy, he's also on the cusp of being a man, "and I want you to explain to me what I saw in it yesterday." His lips move to my ear, his voice low and rustic.

"You already know what you saw," I reply, closing my eyes and taking his scent deep within me. My fangs are drawing, but with him so close, I am hyper aware of him.

"What I saw... Can we do it?" he murmurs against my skin, his hands grazing slowly down my waist, and beneath me the width and length of him is rapidly expanding.

"No," I lean back to gauge him. His cheeks are ruddy and flushed; I can practically taste the blood behind them in the air around me. "You might be pretty enough to pass for one of us, but you're not nearly strong enough to handle me." Running my index finger along his sharply-angled jaw, I flick his chin. "I'd kill you."

"You can be on top," he suggests, a drunken grin growing slowly across his face. "I don't mind."

"I'd still kill you."

He groans lowly, closing his eyes along with it as though it were causing him pain. "Can't you just be extra careful?"

"No..." I reply, shaking my head slowly. "Do you remember a few weeks back in your car, when you were..._engorged_ by my blood?" I remind him, fighting the urge to smirk from the memory.

He scoffs ruefully and without humor. "I'm not likely to forget it."

"You were gripping me pretty hard. Had I been the human girl you often mistake me for, you could've hurt me," I raise my eyebrows to further stress my point, and it's obvious by the growing resignation in his eyes that he's comprehending my meaning. "If the situation were reversed, I could have easily broken your neck—completely by accident."

"So we can't...until I'm turned?" It's not a question, and the disappointment on his face is almost comical.

"I'm afraid not, bucko."

He allows his chin to thud against his chest as he releases a second long, languid groan; the arousal behind it thick and condensed.

Grabbing a fistful of the front of his hair, I yank his head back up to catch his gaze. "Be very careful, pretty boy. I have only just decided to change you, and you are _seriously_ jumping the gun."

He gauges me for several long seconds before deciding to call my bluff as the smile slowly returns to his lips. "If I'm your mate, shouldn't we..._mate_?"

I inch my face a mere breath to his so rapidly I openly startle him. "When you're no longer a human, we will."

"What's sex like as a vampire?" he asks, his voice almost failing as he attempts to close the distance between us. I don't allow him to.

"I have nothing to compare it to," I answer truthfully.

"Can you...explain...?" he adds undeterred, slipping a palm to my cheek and gently angling my face in line with his.

The heat of his hand feels as though it's permeating with my skin, and I can almost taste his radial artery over the rapid rate of his pulse. I close my eyes, focusing on the life stream that sustains us both; the driving force behind my existence and his vitality.

My fangs are drawn, and I am minutely close to surrendering myself to my most primitive impulses, when he leans in and presses his lips to mine.

He kisses me, slow and sensually, his partially-open mouth over, and merged with mine, deepening further with each passing moment. His breath floods me, and its scent is as potent and magnetizing as the blood accumulating behind the supple, firmness of his lips.

My lips part with his, and I have to fight my own innate senses not to bite into them. A guttural sound begins to vibrate softly from his throat. A low humming murmur articulating what his hands, what that swelling organ beneath me, can't. While, desire is the fundamental basis pushing us both past invisible boundaries, his is stemmed from an inherent drive to connect with me sexually. And mine is to feed; to preserve my own existence by taking from his.

Only after feeding does my physical body awaken, and while it's an all-encompassing force; it is still, and will always remain, secondary. At least while the boy in my hands is human, anyway.

Turning myself to fully face him, I sit with both legs on either side of his and cup the sides of his face with my hands. His head tilts back, and severing our mouths slowly, I drag my nose and lips over the coarse, incoming stubble of his jaw and down his throat, tuning my senses wholly into the rushing river barely skin deep.

My entire body is sparking with an all-consuming and arousing hunger, and I'm barely in control of my actions.

"You can...drink from me, Bella," Edward utters in a whisper, but as more of a softly spoken moan than actual speech.

Inhaling deeply, I draw the scent of him into me, allowing that intoxicating aroma of his to completely consume me. My fangs sink into his flesh, but instead of drinking from his arteries or veins, I take from the many blood-vessels just beneath the surface.

With a heavy, almost restricted breath, he completely languishes against the back of the sofa, but his hands remain against my hips; his fingers digging deep. In an equal motion, I move with him as his blood slides effortlessly down my throat so slowly it's becoming agonizing. Even as it does, it's igniting me, steadily giving me over to the sensations of the flesh.

His blood coalesces through my veins, warming the surface of my skin as it does. I return to his mouth, opening mine long enough to again be saturated by his breath, but I don't allow him entrance; my fangs prevent it. They're razor sharp, and if he slid his tongue against them, they'd slice it open.

He's iron hard beneath me now and twitching with each throb of his pulse, and while it's dangerous for him if I allow my senses to pass through that plane, it's not dangerous for me.

And I'm beginning to learn how to evoke the male body into pleasure.

* * *

**A/N: I _did_ promise you progress ;) Thanks for reading. **


	24. Chapter 23

**A/N: I'm sick and feel like shit, but I hope everyone else is doing well and staying healthy. I actually forgot I needed to update this week. Ugh. Good news, Hoodwinked finally spoke to me again, so I'll be updating right after this.  
Thanks Kim. And Melinda. And Leigh.**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 23**

I break Edward's arm. Unintentionally, of course.

This boy likes to kiss, and after sixty-eight years I've finally realized what everyone's been talking about; to lose myself in the sensation of another's lips, their mouth; their breath...

I thought after relieving him of all his pent-up sexual arousal, he'd come crashing back down and stay there for at least a day, or so. But then it's not only sleepless nights my blood is providing him with. Not thirty minutes later, those clear green eyes of his darkened with reawakened hunger.

It happened so fast, and was more instinctual than reactionary. Edward slipped his palm beneath the material of my dress and cupped it wholly around my breast, and on impulse my hand shot out and gripped his wrist, shattering his radius bone.

No one—not vampire or human alike—in my eighty-eight years of life has ever touched me like this before. I had to remind myself not be outraged; not to reach out and break his neck in a similar fashion.

"I am _not_ Lauren Mallory—you have to warn me before you do something like that!" I practically snarled from a stance of pure defensiveness just as his expression smoothed out in pain and he almost choked on the cry he couldn't quite get past his lips. "Good god!" I snapped past patience, and biting into my wrist, I allowed my blood to pool against his stricken hand and heal him.

It takes him a moment to realize the pain has subsided and his hand is no longer crippled, but the shocked hue to his irises takes a little longer to quell. "I'm sorry, Bella," he appeals to me, genuinely regretful, but I'm already witnessing what my blood is doing to him.

I gave him too much. His senses are sharpening before my eyes, and every emotion, every urge within his body, is about to go into overdrive.

Groaning out my exasperation just barely beneath my breath, I take his newly repaired hand and bring it to my lips. Via is Median vein, I take my blood back, leaving him somewhat shell-shocked.

When I release him again and meet his eyes it's accompanied by a fair degree of ferocity. "If you _ever _tell me again that you've forgotten what I am, I will quite literally strangle you."

He stares at me for a moment as though contemplating the seriousness of my threat, and when he responds it's in the exact opposite. A broad, almost teasing, smile warms his entire face. "You've already _quite literally strangled me_."

"You will be the death of me!" I burst impatiently, and his smile only increases, of course. I'm certain he's realized he can, in fact, charm me and is taking full advantage.

"Let's dance," he suddenly proposes, his brows raised high.

"Let's not," I counter.

He pouts, over exaggerating it. "Why?"

"I don't dance."

"You _can't_ dance?" he ventures.

"It was never something I mastered," I state truthfully.

He appears to give it weight for a moment before he shrugs. "I can't dance, either, but let's do it anyway."

"No," I insist, fighting the urge to smile as he attempts, and fails, to pull me up from the couch.

"In life Bella was not very dexterous," is how Jane announces her return.

I turn to her; she's not alone. The human girl she's been talking to the last several hours has accompanied her.

"This is Tia," she introduces, her smile broadening. "I've just acquired her."

"Acquired...?" I echo after severing my eyes from the clearly scared submissive human sitting beside her, whose eyes have remained glued to the ground. She has puncture wounds in her neck and wrist, as well as several bruises aligning her face and body.

Jane nods, and turning back to the human, she curls an arm around her waist. "It's fine, honey. Bella won't harm you."

She raises a pair of doleful eyes slowly, fearfully, and offers me a timid smile. "Hello."

I return it, unable to prevent my forehead from creasing. "Hello. What happened to you?" I ask candidly.

"Um..." her eyes flicker nervously to Jane, who only shakes her head in an effort to placate her.

"That's a story for later, I think." Then leaning closer, Jane whispers covertly in my ear in a tenor neither Edward nor her human will hear, "I want you to release your shield and get your little canary to read her mind."

"He will only get images," I remind her, but Jane's insistent.

"Still... Her story is quite unbelievable; I need clarification."

"All right. When?—now?"

"Come into the foyer," she suggests, before turning to her human and taking her hand.

They rise together, Jane the petite blonde, and her human towering over her despite Jane's stiletto heels.

This thin, gangly human girl, roughly the same age as Edward, is at least five feet eleven, and cowed in every way possible.

"Where are we going?" Edward asks when I pull him to me and follow suit.

"Jane wants you to read her human's mind," I fill him in.

He appears nonplussed by it, and only offers me a warm smile. I return it, albeit cynically.

"Okay, James Dean, tone it down."

"What?" He appears amused, but I don't answer.

We return to the entrance where Jerome remains perched on his stool at the foot of the door.

"I have acquired her, and I want her status changed," Jane informs him, eyeing him coldly, daring him to question.

He immediately obliges her, and without a word, he removes Tia's green band, and replaces it with one in neon pink.

"What about him?" he adds, tilting his head toward Edward.

"_Him_?" I repeat indignantly, arching an eyebrow just as he turns rigid and falls from the stool as though he's turned to stone.

"My...apol...ogies..." he strangles out as he continues to endure Jane's method torture.

"Watch your mouth, in future," she warns, and releasing him she switches her attention to her human.

"Holy shit!" Edward utters in shock as Jerome pulls himself back to his feet, his expression simmering with both resentment and humiliation.

Other vampires tend to keep a safe distance from Jane, and the moment we re-enter the foyer, it quickly becomes deserted, aside from a handful of clueless pets. This is when Jane takes Edward's hand and pulls him to the side, and despite knowing she wouldn't bring any harm to him, the possessive impulse to physically shield him very nearly overtakes me.

"I want you to get as much information as you can for me, honey," she requests of him. "Can you do that?"

Edward nods, his eyes flickering from Tia and then me before back to Jane. "I can do that."

At Jane's direction, Edward and her human sit across from us on the opposite wall of the foyer and talk. As Edward engages with her, his voice almost immediately softens and his expression turns from troubled to practically stricken. He asks her innocent, casual questions and she obliges him and answers even as her haunted, cocoa bean-brown eyes pull continuously toward Jane.

"She's like a beaten foal," I speak softly, shaking my head.

"She's been horrifically abused her entire life," Jane's voice is like acid, even as her eyes remained canvassed to her.

"What has she told you?" I ask with one ear trained on Edward's every word.

"She was sold into sex slavery from a young age by her stepfather. She thinks she was around five years old. Up until only a few months ago, she was trafficked across the country from one male's bed to the next. She escaped, and Archer"—she names the vampire she acquired her from—"found her. She's been his pet ever since. He doesn't abuse her, but he brings her here most nights and allows vampires to feed from her at will hoping one will take a liking to her."

"So, he's happy to hand her over to you," I surmise.

"Quite happy," she replies. "Though he had no choice." I turn back to her and she smirks. "He's nomadic and doesn't like dragging her around with him," she further explains.

"Sure that won't bother you?" I ask with an all-knowing smile; she nudges me teasingly with her shoulder. "Do you plan on turning her?"

"Oh, yes. Her mind has been damaged beyond repair. The humane thing to do is turn her, and then we're going to have some fun," she alludes. "Would you like to accompany us?"

By _fun_ Jane really means revenge; something we've embarked on numerous times together in the past. She doesn't take injustice lying down; though, she's more _lenient_ than I am. Whereas Jane makes a human's death quick, I'm a lot more sadistic.

"Tempting," It is. Very much so, "but not while Edward's human."

"Then _turn_ him." She feigns exasperation. "He's filled to the brim with testosterone. How can you resist not bleeding him dry? It must drive you crazy."

"It does," I mutter, more for my benefit than in answer to her. "What will you tell Aro?" I switch the topic away from Edward and the potency of his hormone-infused blood.

"I take a sabbatical every half-century, or so," she says offhandedly, "and he always welcomes my children into the guard."

"They very rarely stay though," I point out delicately. Only a few have, but then spending eternity locked in the grottoes beneath Volterra isn't appealing in any sense.

"Hmm...that is true..." she murmurs more or less to herself. Jane's turned almost ten humans since I've known her. Only two have remained, and while they all stay loyal to her and return often, I know it bothers her that they've essentially scattered to the four corners of the earth.

"Is she your _la tua cantante_?" I break into her thoughts.

"Her blood _is_ adrenalized, and she's AB negative, but no." She expels a heavy breath as though it troubles her.

"Bella," Edward calls to me softly from across the hall, and as my head immediately snaps in his direction, he motions to me subtly to join him.

"I guess he's done," I say, pulling myself to my feet, and passing Tia who shuffles back to Jane, I sit myself beside him. He appears almost as troubled as Jane was. "What is it?"

"Bella..." His voice falls to barely more than a whisper, and he leans closer to me, his lips practically resting against my earlobe. "She's not going to kill her, is she?"

"_She_ can hear every word out of your mouth," I disclose with a small smile as his eyes immediately dart to Jane in panic. I follow them; Jane's pretending to be none-the-wiser, and I almost laugh. "No, she isn't going to kill her," I assure him.

He releases a very obviously breath in relief. "Bella"—he still speaks my name entirely too much—"she's been..._raped and beaten_ her whole life." His voice loses almost all volume and it's evident he's skirting cautiously around me.

"I know," I say, grabbing his hand to put him at ease. "She told Jane, and Jane wanted you to validate it for her."

"Oh..." He mumbles, before expelling a momentous-sounding breath.

He's falls quiet for a spell as though his mind's adrift, before a discernible smirk inches on his lips and he suddenly scoffs back laughter.

"What—?" I begin puzzled, when he explains.

"Emmett's betting everyone inside to an arm wrestling match."

I immediately snap my shield back in place, and he sulks. "Let's go back inside—you want to_ dance_, don't you?" I say dryly when his pout expands.

"You're not allowed to patronize me anymore," he reminds me as I drag him behind me.

"Coming, Jane?" I ask over my shoulder, but not before squeezing Edward's hand in retribution.

"_OW_!" he hollers.

"Soon," she replies, attempting not to break into laughter.

Her fangs are released and I hurry my step, but Edward, ever the perceptive human, notices.

"Wait—she's going to—" he blurts alarmed the instant we step back into the dark obscurity of the club.

"I drink your blood, don't I?"

"Yeah, but... Jane's not into her like that. I don't think..."

I turn back to him and arch a very pointed brow. "So, you think just because she's female Jane will automatically be _into_ her?"

"Erm...yeah," he admits sheepishly, and I laugh.

"You are _such_ a teenager."

"You're a granny," he teases close to my ear again. "And you hurt my hand—_again_!"

"You deserved it," I say with a smirk, stopping at the ruckus several feet before us.

Emmett's in the center of it among numerous destroyed tables, in the midst of practically tearing the hand off a vampire he's arm-wrestling. He also appears completely drunk.

"For every match he wins they have to buy him a drink," Rose stands beside me and mutters, rubbing her brow with exasperation and even tenser fingers.

"How many has he won?" Edward asks, attempting not to laugh, if only because he's become aware of when not to piss Rose off.

"All of them. Though, I haven't kept count." She sighs loudly, over dramatizing it, naturally.

"Where's Alice?" I ask, half a second before I notice her in the thick of it. By all accounts she's refereeing. "Of course..."

"We can't take you Olympic coven anywhere, it seems," Jane speaks up from behind with amusement laced through her voice.

"Apparently," I say ruefully. "We should probably leave soon anyway. Edward hasn't eaten since yesterday."

"I'm not hungry," he pipes up, resting his arm around my shoulders casually.

"You're still human, you—"

"_Idiot boy_," he interjects imitating me, and flashing me a cocky grin when I scowl at him.

"You're real clever, bucko," I nudge him backward even as a begrudgingly smile twitches at my lips. "And that wasn't what I was going to say."

He only arches a skeptical brow, when Jane effectively distracts me. "I'm going to stay a while longer."

"Hmm, and Em's going nowhere, right now," Rose adds.

"Let's stay, too," Edward coaxes me, attempting to sway me with that smile of his.

"It's almost morning, you realize," I point out.

"Yeah?" Sounding unconvinced he pulls his phone from his pocket and unlocks it. "Holy shit—it's almost five!"

"Honestly, Edward..."

"It feels like we've only been here for a few hours..." he utters, looking suddenly disorientated.

"Time flies..." Rose says dryly from beside me. "I'm going to get another drink."

"I'm really not hungry," Edward attempts to convince me.

"You should still eat. There's no nutritional value in my blood when it comes to humans," I insert reason, sounding wholly like Esme. I don't like it.

"Can we come back?" he asks with entirely too much hope.

"_Fine_." And it's not as though Eclipse is the kind of nightclub that has closing hours. It doesn't sleep—much like its patrons.

"If you're going to feed your human, I should bring mine," Jane pipes up as though she were referring to her pet gerbil. Tia stands beside her, gripping Jane as though she were protecting her.

"_Feed me_?" Edward mumbles to me dubiously in echo. "What would be open? _McDonald's?"_ He doesn't sound exactly enthused by it.

"You don't like _McDonald's_?" I tease him.

"It's alright..." he mumbles petulantly.

"I _told you_, we'll come back after—good god," I mutter, and grabbing his hand, I yank him after me toward the exit.

I let Edward drive only because the sight of my car excites him more than I do. It placates him well enough, and punching in the nearest McDonald's in the GPS he reverses and pulls out of the underground carpark.

We head south and travel roughly a couple of miles into Seattle's industrial district to the nearest restaurant.

"Let's sit inside," Jane suggests from the back seat as Edward pulls up in the parking lot. I glance over my shoulder at her and smirk; she's gazing up at the golden arches in awe. "I have never been to one of these in my life," she explains.

"Okay, let's go," I oblige her as Edward sighs and cuts the engine. "What are you pouting about now?" I put to him after pulling myself from the front passenger seat beside him.

"I'm not hungry," he insists.

I take a long-winded, semi-exasperated breath. "Humor me. God knows I've had to do it for you more times than I can recall."

"Fine," he grumbles, looking entirely too handsome despite his very obvious tantrum.

I only smile to myself; he notices.

"I'm not pouting," he bends down to me and adds, his expression mirroring mine as he reaches out and opens the entrance door for me.

"What would you call it, then?"

He opens his mouth to reply, but obviously conceding he goes with another angle. "I'm just not hungry."

"You're like a five year old," I say only partially beneath my breath behind another gushing breath.

"I heard that," he says wryly.

"You were meant to," I reply, glancing up at the menu before my eyes catch the comically shocked expression of the cashier.

Oh, good god...

"It's you!" the girl behind the counter utters, her voice practically failing.

"Do I know you?" I ask, feigning ignorance, but of course, I know exactly who she is. Gwyneth; one of dearly departed Kate's more vocal minions.

"You were with Kate and Todd..." she attempts to refresh my memory, and I'm forced to play along.

"Oh, yeah. That's right," I say, noticing as Edward eyes her closely, his brow heavily bridged. He's reading her mind; I allow him to.

"Everyone thought you were dead. They were looking for your body for weeks thinking you were thrown from the car," she starts to ramble, gaining more volume to her voice with each word that passes her lips.

"Obviously not," I put her completely insincere fears to rest.

After I was finished with the basketballer and the cheerleader I released the handbrake on Todd's Camaro and pushed it into the gorge below.

Such a tragedy...

"What happened?" she pries, despite my obvious expression to the contrary.

"Todd turned out to be a grabby little bastard, so I was forced to threaten him with my nail file into stopping the car and letting me out. He dumped me in the middle of nowhere." I huff, putting forth a perfect rendition of outrage.

"She called me to pick her up," Edward cuts in. "He's lucky he rolled his car off a cliff, because if I got my hands on him first it wouldn't have been as quick."

I pause and glance up at him, and I'm fairly certain I've been rendered speechless. Notwithstanding the fact that he knows of the circumstances surrounding Kate and Todd's unfortunate accident, but because he's so quick-witted and willing to jump in and back me up without hesitation.

"But...I thought you were into him," she continues to push, because obviously Gwyneth doesn't know when to quit while she's ahead.

Or alive.

"Not really," I say with deliberate disinterest. "He messaged me to meet up"—he did posthumously when Emmett hacked his Facebook and manipulated the dates to make it appear so—"but I really only went to make bucko here"—I tilt my head in reference to Edward—"jealous."

"It worked," he mutters, and when I peek another glance at him he catches my gaze and smirks discreetly.

"_But_, I was sad to hear about Kate—despite what she did to poor Susan," I turn back and cut her off when she opens her mouth to resume her line of questioning.

"S-Susan?" she stammers, her eyes widening with a definite culpability. "You know about—"

"_Naturally_," I say dryly. "Now would you care to take our order?"

"You're right, Bella," Edward says covertly after picking up his vile-smelling meal and carrying the tray to a booth in the far corner of the room, "wrong Kate."

"Aren't you clever...? How did you know?" I gaze up at him and arch a brow.

"Googled it." He looks well-pleased with himself.

"Of course you did," I say wryly.

"Your reputation proceeds you, sweet Bella," Jane says with a grin as she takes the seat opposite me and beside her human. She's given the wretched girl her blood. All traces of being fed upon are gone from Tia's skin, as well as all bruises and blemishes, and her eyes are clear and bright, despite their residual haunted hue.

"She's pretty unforgettable," Edward adds before taking a humongous bite of his burger.

Jane's gaze immediately meets mine and her smile turns to a full, knowing smirk. "How sweet," she notes.

"He's _very_ sweet," I say with deliberate innuendo.

"Are you going to allow me a taste?" she petitions; though, she's not serious.

I laugh dryly and turn to Edward, raising my brows in silent question.

"What?" he asks vacantly.

"Jane wants to know if you'll let her taste you," I relay, smiling subtly when his expression turns five shades paler.

"A-are you asking me?" He swallows thickly, appearing suddenly nervous.

"Obviously."

He gauges me for a moment, before he rests his uncertain gaze on Jane. "If...you really want to..." Is his rather ambiguous response, and it's very clearly derived from a sense of obligation.

"She's teasing you, Edward," I put him at ease, breaking into a subconscious smile—something he immediately brings to my attention. "Your blood is _all_ mine," I lean closer and promise him, witnessing as that very blood rushes along his neck.

"_I'm_ all yours," he adds in barely a whisper, his voice taking on a rustic edge.

"As I live and breathe..." Jane speaks up, clearing her throat pointedly and almost breaking into laughter.

"This is entirely Alice's fault," I turn to her and say begrudgingly.

"You don't appear too put out," she counters, her expression turning sly.

"With the way he smells, and this handsome face?" I wrap my hand over his chin, my thumb and fingers pressing lightly into his cheeks. "I could eat him."

Edward only grins to himself, his blush steadily expanding.

"I'm happy to see you're finally at peace with it," Jane acknowledges, her smile becoming warm.

"Hmm..." I mumble, turning to Edward to sever her pervading gaze. He's gorging on his food in an obvious effort to finish it as quickly as possible, but the smell, as well as the way he's eating, is nauseating. "Good god, Edward," I say, edging him away from me with my elbow.

"I'm eating as fast as I can," he says with a certain degree of apology.

"That's the entire point."

"He's male," Jane rationalizes. "Look at the way Tia eats." She motions to her human who's meticulously consuming each fry, one by one.

"He doesn't normally eat like this—slow down before you choke to death," I warn him when he shoves at least a dozen fries down his throat.

"I'm fine," he says dryly, a mouth full of food. "And it was you who insisted I eat."

"Like a_ human_, _not _a _bear_!" I clarify.

He takes a sip of his soda and grins at me, amusement clearly behind his overly-animated eyes. Eyes that reflect too much of my blood coursing through his veins.

I can only shake my head to myself, as well as him, when he does something he often does; he offers me his drink. I only wave it away, internalizing my piqued emotions, but Jane actually balks.

"Did he just offer you..._that_?" she asks in repulsion when Edward pulls himself from the table to throw his rubbish in the trash.

"He forgets," I explain—again.

"You told me that, but I didn't suppose you meant literally," she replies, her forehead creasing, her expression almost dazed.

"No, _quite_ literally." I bow my head and rub my brow, my fingers tense.

"He is one _strange _human," she notes bemused.

"I think that's well established," I say, taking Edward's hand when he offers it to me.

"Sorry, Bella," he bends down and petitions as we make our way to the exit.

"Why are you apologizing this time?" I ask with a small sigh.

"Did I embarrass you?" he appears uncertain.

"I don't get embarrassed by humans," I state simply. "Goodbye, Gwendolyn," I call out in farewell to the cashier who's continuing to stare at the four of us brazenly.

"Bella..." he complains in a quiet voice.

"I know her name." I wave my hand dismissively.

"It's not that..." he contradicts, and I turn in time to witness him openly frown.

"What are you pouting about now?" I enquire, scrutinizing him closely. He's upset. Again.

"You...treat me like I'm..."

"My human?" I finish for him. "Good god, Edward, this again?"

"At least you don't call me _Sonny Jim_ anymore," he mutters to himself; something I catch, because no doubt he forgets _that_, as well.

I only glare at him in return, and when he glances at me, his forehead knots with confusion. "What...?"

"Do I _honestly_ have to keep reassuring you?"

"I still don't know..." he admits, his voice quiet as his eyes fall with obvious defeat to the damp concrete of the parking lot.

"What don't you know?" I demand, my voice spilling over with impatience. "That you're my mate, that I plan on turning you to be with you for eternity, or that I would quite literally kill for you?—_what_?"

He looks up and I watch in exasperation as a slow smile spreads warmly across his entire face. "You _really _think I'm your mate?"

"Of course I do!" I snap. "God in heaven, this human!" I rant to myself, and snatching the keys from his hand, I unlock my car. "Get in!"

"Can I drive?" he asks, his smile remaining prevalent. It does absolutely nothing to curb my ire because I'm more receptive to it than I'll ever admit.

"Sweet Bella..." Jane slides up to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "If you do not turn this boy and put yourself—and everyone around you—out of their misery," she leans close and whispers in my ear, the amusement laced through her voice evident, "I will."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading :D**


	25. Chapter 24

**A/N: Hope everyone's healthy and happy :)  
Thanks, Kim. **

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 24**

"Let's do it together. I'll turn Tia, and you turn your red canary," Jane continues to pester me, her grin brazen.

We've been having the same conversation for the last several hours, and while she's only teasing me, I'm fast becoming tired of it.

"No. He's too young," I stand firm, giving her the same answer I've already offered many times over.

"How much do you think he'll mature in a few short years? Plus, you need to turn him before he gets any taller. He has another inch left in him." She cocks a brow, almost breaking into laughter at my responding scowl.

I shake my head to myself and nudge her. "I'm just...not sure."

"Of course you are," she immediately counters, completely unconvinced. "The two of you bicker like Aro and Marcus. I've never heard anything so hilarious in all my life than the two of you in that burger restaurant back there." She juts her chin in a random direction, her eyes burning with amusement. "Though," she leans in and adds covertly, "I half expected you to tear his head off."

"I half expected that myself," I murmur wryly, my gaze darting without conscious decision to Edward. He's in the middle of the hand wrestling melee, getting pointers from Emmett.

Just as I promised him, we returned to Eclipse, and for the first hour, I released my shield curious to see what his reaction would be when he realized what the vast majority of immortals were thinking about him. But if he was disturbed by any of it, you wouldn't know. He has an infallible poker face. For the most part, he smiled to himself, as well as graciously to each vampire who turned their curious red eyes toward him, completely at ease.

He is the most incomprehensible human in existence.

"Has he ever shown any fear around you?" Jane breaks into my thoughts as though she were reading them, and I'm shaking my head before I can answer.

"In the very beginning, in a sense, but the instant I started talking to him, it completely dissolved. I'm beginning to lose count of the amount of times I've almost ended his life, and it's made absolutely no difference to him. One night, I almost killed him twice in the space of as many minutes, and his response was to tell me he loves me!" I'm ranting, the exasperation in my voice almost overshadowing my disbelief, and beside me, Jane not-so-discreetly muffles her laughter through her nose.

"Have you ever considered the fact that he's subconsciously aware that he's your mate, so any natural instincts of self-preservation are secondary to him?" She raises a very pointed brow.

I expel a jaded breath and decide to lay it all bare. "Carlisle believes we've..._imprinted_," I mumble, practically shuddering from the very idea of it.

"...Can you repeat that?" Jane utters blankly after a long pause where she appeared to be rendered speechless.

"You heard." I bow my head and rub laboriously at my forehead.

"We don't imprint," she feels the need to remind me.

"My words exactly, but apparently we do."

"Please explain it to me," she petitions, and she's serious, I realize.

Releasing another short, barely-patient breath, I relay Carlisle's theory and evidence thereof, only to be met by her completely vacant stare.

"I _have _to find my singer," she says more or less to herself, her voice barely presenting with a sound.

"Good luck with that," I mutter ruefully.

"So..." she begins on a new tangent after taking a minute or two to ponder this latest revelation, "I heard what you told him..." Her tone is teasing and full of laughter. "Why did you lie?"

I come infinitely close to groaning out loud. "Because every second word out of his mouth is in reference to it, and he doesn't need any further encouragement."

"Naturally. He's barely out of his teens," she says lightly, as though it went without saying.

It does, but still...

"Do you mean to tell me you have no plans on getting physical with him?" Jane continues when I don't offer anything in reply, and judging by her expression alone, she's coming to the conclusion that I'm mad.

"I have no intention of taking on any human bodily fluids," I emphatically state, and I'm unwavering on that point. The mere idea of it makes me want to vomit. Humans are constantly oozing with one secretion or another, and I've seen it first hand with Edward. He has absolutely no control over it. It's repulsive.

She eyes me for a moment, her smirk evident enough that she's not even minimally convinced. "You realize the bulk of his problem is sexual frustration, don't you?"

"He's human," I shrug an inconsequential shoulder.

"Bella..." She sighs, shaking her head. "You have to be aware of what happens when he looks at you." It's not a question.

I only gaze at her, my brow furrowing.

"Surely you smell his blood as it floods to the surface of his skin, as well as the way his pupils dilate every time he turns them in your direction." There's an element of exasperation in conjunction with her obvious amusement this time.

"Of course I do," I state a little too indignantly, which only serves to prove the opposite. It doesn't lessen the fact that I'm well aware of his physical reaction to me. I'd just rather not focus on it more than absolutely necessary.

"Dear, sweet Bella..." She slides an arm around my shoulders. "This is what happens when you spend a lifetime murdering the opposite sex." She has the decency to swallow past her laughter, but it doesn't lessen my frustration.

"Honestly, Jane, you're no better than the warden!"

"I resent that!" she retorts, even as a smile ghosts across her lips.

"It's not that I don't appreciate your investment in my sex life or anything, but _surely_ _you_ have to be aware that I broke his arm tonight. It could have easily been his neck!"

Despite my admission her smirk only deepens. "You obviously need to get a little more accustomed to him touching you. I'm sure after sixty-eight years it's going be a hard habit to break."

"To say the least," I say ruefully.

"I think you absolutely do need some kind of physical connection with him, however," she concludes.

"Or I can wait until he's stronger than I am."

"Who says that will happen?" She eyes me dubiously. "You are aware of how strong you are, aren't you?"

"Yes, but he's..._spirited_," I reply for want of a better word. "And tall."

"And? You're short," she notes simply.

"You're _shorter_," I respond in kind.

"I'm shorter than everyone, apart from Alice," she says dryly, half-rolling her eyes, and for the most part, she's right.

Jane's an inch shorter than I am, while Alice is two inches shorter than Jane. But she has a point; if Edward gets to 6'3, he'll be a full foot taller than me. It's a definite possibility.

"Unless he's created as angry as you were, I'd wager he won't be nearly as strong as you," Jane adds, with a fraction more tact this time.

"Nevertheless," I say in an attempt to conclude the conversation, "his head's always a mile ahead of the rest of him, and he has no sense of caution. I'm not about to risk his life just for the sake of getting that sticky, vile-smelling..._mess_ inside me." I grimace as Jane all but breaks into laughter.

"It takes three minutes for human death to occur; plenty of time to heal him." She arches that brow at me again and attempts to somewhat rein in her amusement.

"I'd rather not traumatize him any further," I state humorlessly.

"He doesn't appear to have any lasting effects." She shrugs a casual shoulder and turns to glance at him in the crowds.

"Jane!" I snap, past patience.

"Bella!" she deliberately imitates my tone. "Admit to it, you're searching for an escape."

"I am not! I've accepted that he's my mate, and that I will eventually turn him. I just need to become better acquainted with him," I attempt to justify even as my voice becomes wearied with each word spoken.

"All right, I can accept that," she admits, but her tone alludes to the very opposite, and scooting closer to me, she adds in confidence against my ear, "but every single vampire in this room is aware that every second you spend with him, you're fighting not only him but yourself."

"Myself?" I pull back, echoing skeptically.

"You're constantly feeding from him, and it's not from hunger. You aren't the least bit thirsty." She smirks again, but there's an element of empathy that softens her expression along with it.

I shake my head to myself, my thoughts beginning to scramble. "If you found your singer, you'd be able to understand my perspective. I desire his blood so profoundly it often obscures my very mind."

"You desire _him_," she corrects me. "I want to hear you say it."

"Of course I do," I abruptly state, huffing, but I sound too defensive; we both know it. "He's so beautiful he almost passes as one of us."

"So, it begs the question—what are you waiting for? _Turn _him."

"Twelve months," I double down stubbornly.

She groans, her exacerbation only semi-feigned. "Is it his blood? You can save it when he's being turned, you realize?"

"No," I answer simply. Though, I will miss it. I admit to that. "I just don't want to leave any room for doubt."

"If you at least make an attempt to desensitize yourself to him physically, I promise not to allow Aro to read me for a month. Deal?" Her brows raise high, her head tilting as she awaits my answer.

"Deal, you deviant. Even though I don't need to be_ desensitized_. I'm perfectly fine with kissing him." More than I ever expected, in fact.

"You didn't break his arm because he kissed you..." She clears her throat in emphasis.

I almost huff again, but deciding to take her in good humor, I break into a reluctant smile and shake my head. "If you promise to leave your maker, _I'll_ promise you anything." While I come across as teasing, I'm deadly serious. Jane's dying just as surely as Aro, Marcus and Caius are in the ruins beneath Volterra.

"He won't let me go," she confesses in a murmur after an extended pause. Her eyes fall ashamedly to her lap and she sighs very openly. "Bella..."

My heart immediately stalls, and on impulse, I reach out to grab her hand. "What?"

"He fears if I go, he'll be left vulnerable."

"Jane..."

"I can't leave him like that," she meets my gaze again and professes, but there is something beseeching about her tone as if she wants me to understand, but I can't.

"He has Alec _and_ Felix," I point out, even as she shakes her head in opposition to it.

"Alec leaves for longer periods than I do, and Felix is...petrifying. Emmett is stronger. I'd wager that _you're_ stronger, Bella."

"Jane..." I whisper, shaking my head to myself, helplessly. "You can't live like that."

"I don't have a choice."

"You _always_ have a choice!" I immediately counter, both frustrated and aggrieved by her blind allegiance to Aro.

"Bella..." She sighs, and she's beginning to sound as equally helpless. "It is what it is."

"How can I be happy when I know that you're not?!" I burst, having to restrain myself from reaching out and shaking her.

"I'll be happy if I know you are," she promises. "And I'll have Tia. We'll visit often." She attempts to placate me, but I can't bear it.

"It's no consolation! Jane, I'll turn Edward tomorrow if you promise me you'll leave Volterra!" I bargain, all the while knowing it's futile.

She shakes her head again, sadly. "I don't want you to worry about me. Volterra is all I've known, and I have all the freedom I crave," she makes a valiant effort to assure me, but I remain unaffected. I know she desires to be free, even if she'll never openly admit it.

I pull myself abruptly to my feet, shaking my head in answer to the silent questions behind Jane's eyes, and turning on my heel, I leave. I leave the club behind me and race past Jerome in my haste to escape. I don't stop until I find myself back in the underground parking lot of the Sorrento Hotel, and that's when I realize Edward's right behind me.

"Bella—_hey_!" He's breathless, his voice anxious, and taking my hand, he pulls me to face him revealing the same anxiety that's burning acutely behind his eyes. "What happened? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say dully, dropping my head to my splayed palm. "Nothing..." My voice drops to a whisper, and I all but lean in and rest my head to his chest.

As if anticipating me, Edward runs both hands up along my arms as though he were going to embrace me. "I know it's not nothing."

I shake my head insistently. "You can't help."

"If you tell me, maybe I can," he replies, and he's being so sincerely earnest that a humorless laugh escapes me.

"You can't, Edward," I confirm, gentler this time.

"Bella..." he persists because this human is nothing if not stubborn.

"Can you make Jane leave her maker?!" I relent, my tone flaring hotly.

He pauses as a disconcerted frown steadily mars his handsome face. "He's...her father..."

I huff impatiently, fast filling with frustration. "That's irrelevant—we all leave our makers. _All of us_!"

"...Will _I_ leave you?" he asks, his voice softening as if it were inconceivable.

"If you wake and realize I'm not your mate—"

He immediately shakes his head adamantly in contradiction, and opens his mouth to put a voice to it.

I raise my hand to silence him, and when he nods his head in concession, I start over, "If you wake and realize I'm not your mate, you'll stay with me for half a millennia or so, maybe less, and then you'll leave to start your own coven or join another. It's _inevitable_."

"I_ am_ your mate, Bella," he insists, his voice so impassioned I break into a small, sad smile.

"That's the risk of mating with humans. You never know how they'll feel when they're turned."

"Bella—" His forehead knots heavily in obvious distress, but shaking my head, slowly this time, I cut him off.

"Don't worry yourself over it. We have higher odds." I scoff to myself because I can still barely comprehend it myself.

"Higher odds?" he repeats, his voice flooding with uncertainty.

"You're my singer and I feed you my blood. Those two things alone will ensure you wake up as ridiculously bewitched by me as you are now," I assure him, my smile this time ironic and growing more so when his quickly follows.

"Why are you so worried about Jane?" he asks after the two of us fall into an odd moment of affection, and considering the frequency of these moments, they're not nearly as odd as I believe they are.

"It's dangerous for a vampire to stagnate."

"Why?" He's understandably confused.

"Because if our minds become too unproductive, we'll lose ourselves in them. For several hours in the beginning, and then days and months, until it's eventually years. And if that happens, we'll begin to petrify."

"_Petrify_?" he echoes.

"Our strength will wane, our skin will become brittle, and we'll stop feeding and fall into a state of living death. We need the sun, Edward—more so than humans. We're cold blooded..." I shake my head to myself in an effort to rationalize my own words. "It's vital that our lives stay on a continuum—to keep our minds occupied. It's why we constantly move around and not stay in one place for too long; why we surround ourselves with family or join a coven; and why we mingle with humans until they captivate us enough to turn them," I'm beginning to ramble in my effort to impress upon him the importance of it, and in turn, he only listens, his mouth falling partially open and his expression smoothing out and becoming almost childlike. "Humans breathe new life into us, because if we stagnate, we will cease to be. And, I...I can't let that be Jane's fate," I finish, my voice falling to a defeated whisper, and breaking his gaze, I allow my head to drop.

"Bella..." He runs the back of his fingers across my cheek bone, and in that single moment in time, I realize that I am just as equally bewitched by him. And that perhaps, I always have been.

"Edward, you..." My voice breaks, and before I can stop them—before I'm even aware of them—tears are spilling silently down my face.

Edward's eyes widen in panic and he hastily reaches out to catch them. "You can _cry_?" he utters in disbelief.

"Of course I can," I reply, frustrated at myself and my own feeble emotions.

"Bella..." he appeals to me seriously, his expression becoming almost stricken. "Please let me in."

It's my shield he's referring to, and without any further hesitation, I release it.

For the longest pause he only stares at me, his brow furrowing heavily as his eyes closely canvas mine, when without warning, he encloses me in his arms and pulls me against him.

I don't resist, and for a moment, I lay my head to the warmth of his chest listening to that steady and very human heart of his, in a state of absolute disquiet.

My arms hang listless at my sides, until slowly, apprehensively, I wrap them around his waist. And as if encouraged by it, he tightens his own around me. It's such an unfamiliar but unfathomable sensation, and unable to reconcile it in any other way, I completely surrender to my tears.

I sob openly against him for reasons I can scarcely comprehend, while in turn he holds me, soothing me without words until I fall quiet. Of course then that moment of clarity falls over me, and impatient at myself, I pull myself from his arms and hastily wipe my face dry.

"Good god!" I mutter before braving a glance up at him.

He continues to smile at me with entirely too much tenderness behind it, and I'm almost certain the supernatural heart beating too rapidly within my chest fractures.

"See what you're reducing me to?" I say to neither of us in particular, and not quite sounding coherent.

Of course his smile only intensifies, and when he opens his mouth, the question he asks completely jars me. "What color eyes did you have?"

"Brown," I answer when I pull my thoughts back from distraction. "My father used to say they were like pennies in the sunshine because they had flecks of—"

"Gold," he finishes for me, his voice soft and resonating.

My smile tugs in mirror to his, and I nod. "Hmm."

"Bella..." he begins when I interject.

"Do you want to go home?"

"...What about Jane and Tia?"

"Emmett and Rose will drive them back."

He tilts his head and does a thoughtful semi-nod. "Do you really want to go home?"

"We don't have to go home. I just...want to get out of here," I admit, my voice falling.

He smiles, but then, that's all he seems to do; smile, nod, shrug... All are insanely appealing. "Okay. Can I—"

"Yes, you can drive," I beat him to the punch, pulling my keys from my purse, I hand them to him.

He opens the passenger door for me, before sliding into the driver's side. "Where to?" he asks after bringing the throaty roar of my car's engine to life.

I half shake my head. "Just drive."

**. . .**

For the most part, we drive in silence. A temperate smile is pulling easily on Edward's lips even as he sucks in those cheeks of his. He exceeds the speed limit and averages roughly eighty miles an hour, but occasionally, for apparently no reason at all, he hits the brakes and eases off the gas; until I realize it's to avoid a ticket from Highway Patrol.

"How far can you see into someone's mind?" I inquire, both intrigued and impressed. My first assumption was he could only read people immediately before him, but I'm beginning to realize I've been wrong more times than I'm comfortable with when it comes to this human.

"Hmm...about half a mile, but the further out it is the hazier it becomes. It's pretty easy to detect State Patrol, though. All I see is cars going past in their minds." He turns to face me, expressing his amusement as he does.

I return his smile before my gaze draws back to the stretch of road before us. It's approaching midday and the sky is typically cloaked by rainclouds. It doesn't appear to be hindering Edward's reflexes, though. He has near perfect control over my car, and not once have I felt concerned enough to take over. His senses as an immortal will be impeccable.

"Bella..." he speaks up after a couple of minutes of silence, distraction thick in the timber of his voice.

"Hmm?"

"Am I...really your mate?" he asks with obvious caution and without looking at me.

I sigh pointedly. "This again..."

"Bella—"

"Where does this insecurity come from?" I interrupt, but my curiosity is genuine. "You have to be aware of how handsome you are? Or did it slip your mind tonight that you were being closely coveted by just about every female vampire in the room?" I'm slightly exasperated, but it's a prominent emotion where Edward is concerned.

"Yeah, as a human, sure..." he mutters, "but, Bella, you're..._beautiful_ and so far out of my league, I just..."

"Good god..." I bow my head to massage my brow. It's something else that's become an all-too-common mannerism. "Haven't I explained to you in some detail that it doesn't matter what you look like as a human? You being this pretty is just an added bonus!"

"So...you're saying it's my personality?" He glances at me this time, his expression comically dubious.

I roll my eyes. "It's not your personality, or your face, it's _you_!" I stress. "I am connected to you in ways no vampire—nor human for that matter—understand. It just is what it is. You're my mate, and I'm tired of fighting it!" I'm becoming frustrated, and unable to contain it, I scoff out my breath brashly and tear my eyes from him.

"Sorry, Bella..." he apologizes sheepishly. "I piss you off a lot, don't I?"

"You do," I concede, almost breaking into a small smile, "but it's usually only temporary. Please don't tell me you're playing more word games."

He glances at me again, his smile more endearing than I can rationalize with. Jane's right; I'm finding I want to feed from him constantly. "It just doesn't make sense..."

"What doesn't make sense?" I ask dryly.

"All those male vampires. Every single one puts...fucking Brad Pitt to shame, and yet you're with...me." On the last word, his voice drops to a whisper and biting on the inside of his cheek, he once more turns away.

"Finding your mate doesn't make sense, and for the record, junior, _you_ put _fucking Brad Pitt_"—I imitate him—"to shame."

He smiles, it's sunny, to himself and almost relaxed, but he doesn't respond.

"You're killing me," I murmur.

"Hmm?" he prompts me.

"I'm not in the habit of repeating myself, Edward, so I'm only going to say this once more, and _only_ once," I state emphatically.

He slows toward an approaching yellow light and turns to face me, his brows raised high, his expression a little too vulnerable for my liking.

"You _are _my mate, and while I enjoy your handsome face at the moment, I still understand that you'll easily be the most beautiful vampire in our coven when you're turned. So, kindly stop under-estimating yourself, as well as me." There's a gentle edge to my voice, because aside from being human, he's still so young, and all these insecurities are synonymous with his age.

The smile returns to his lips, and immersed behind it, is every human emotion I once had zero patience for. "Are you saying you love me?"

I gaze at him for a moment, unsure how to answer. "I...don't know what love is," I eventually admit, my eyes on my hands, before I raise them again and catch his, "but I'd really like you to teach me."

* * *

**A/N: I can promise one thing now; she won't attempt to kill him again ;) **


	26. Chapter 25

**A/N: Hey! Sorry for being such a shit updater. I came down with an evil flu (not Corona) and it sucked the mojo clean out of me. I've just started writing again, so here's hoping.  
I just want to add, I'm praying for you guys in America, and I hope you can all come together and find unity. Racism is despicable. I cannot believe it's even an issue in the 21st century, but it is. Humans are such suckage sometimes.  
Anywho, thank you to Kim, even though she hasn't finished editing this one yet, and Melinda and Leigh. I hope you enjoy.  
**ETA: this has now been edited. **

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 25**

"Wanna walk home today?" Edward asks, catching up to me after final period as I head for my car at the end of the lot.

I turn to him, quirking a brow as he drapes his arm around my neck. "And why would I do that?"

He shrugs a jerky shoulder; something he does entirely too often. It is such a _teenage_ mannerism, but it's exasperating. "I feel like I never see you at home."

_Home_; it's how he refers to living with seven vampires. By the same hand, he refers to _his_ house as "my folk's home". It's stark and very telling.

"You'd see me more often if you didn't spend every waking second playing those ridiculous games with Emmett," I point out, smirking slightly to myself.

"Yeah, I know. Still, let's walk."

"Let's no—"

He cuts me off by grabbing my hand and pulling me in the opposite direction. I contemplate resisting him, but I don't. I'm not very fond of using my strength against him, for reasons unknown. Or maybe reasons I'm still not ready to reconcile with just yet.

We pass Rose and Emmett as they head toward the Merc, and it's obvious when Emmett accepts my car keys without comment that Edward's already arranged this with him. Rose only cocks a questioning eyebrow at me.

"Don't ask," I answer with a sigh, even as a notable grin tugs on her lips.

We stay close to the shadows, and it's not that I'm against traveling on foot, it's the speed we travel that's tedious. Still, I oblige Edward begrudgingly, and for the first several minutes we walk in silence. Edward holds my hand, and it fast becomes clammy in my own. I ignore it, though. Humans are little more than salt-bags of secretions and impulses, and I often find it unfathomable that I was ever one. How I dealt with periods I'll never know, but dead blood oozing from my most intimate orifice? The mere idea of it makes me want to vomit.

"See, not so terrible, is it?" he leans down and teases against my ear, and unable to hold off the smile, I ease him back with my elbow. Not before he plants his lips quickly against my temple, however.

He kisses me a lot, this boy, and it's not that I'm completely averse to it, it's just that he does it in front of my family as if it were completely inconsequential. My mother's reaction to it alone is mortifying. Esme doesn't get a lot of "proud mother" moments when it comes to me, but Edward's constant physical affection with me is one of them. I can barely tolerate it.

"It's fine, but don't make a habit of it," I reply, squeezing my hand around his and quickening my step. It's a rare day of broken cloud cover and intermittent rays of sunshine, and I enjoy the warmth of it on my cool skin. It's all so very _human_, but if I said I didn't like it at all, I'd be lying.

"Hmm..." he murmurs in amusement to himself, and when I turn to him, his smile broadens.

"Why is that funny?" I ask exasperated. He appears to find _everything_ I say, and _do_, amusing. I have no idea why. Rose insists it's because he's _in love_. It's the shortest conversation I've ever had with her in my life.

"You, an immortal who could kill me with your pinkie finger, bitching about walking," he answers, and he very rarely does—answer me, that is. Usually he shrugs his shoulders noncommittally and answers with, "it's not".

"I am_ not_ bitching!" I exclaim, taking offense to his choice of words, which in turn only increases his smile to a full blown grin. "You're real clever, junior."

He sighs pointedly, letting me know he's unimpressed with _my_ choice of words, but doesn't reply.

"Have your parents contacted you, yet?" I ask after a moment where I again get caught up with smiling idiotically up at him. It's happening far too often; these frozen moments in time where I completely lose myself.

"Yeah..." he mumbles with the shrug I was waiting for, pulling his phone from his back pocket, he clicks it open and holds it out for me to read.

**We'll be home sometime Thursday evening. Make sure the house is clean, **is all it says. It's from his mother, and it's the first of its kind in the close to three weeks they've been away.

I huff beneath my breath, incensed by their blatant lack of concern for him. Sure, he's on the cusp of becoming a man and is by no means a child, but he still lives with them, and this is the extent of their consideration?

"It's fine," he assures me, gently nudging his shoulder with mine, and while he appears nonplussed by it, it does nothing to appease me.

"Could they at least _pretend_ to be invested in their only child?" I mutter bitterly.

"They are in their own way," he replies more or less to himself.

"Why _is it_ you're an only child, by the way?" I ask, changing course so suddenly, Edward flashes me a confused expression.

"Huh?"

"It's not exactly a common thing in backwater towns such as Forks," I specify.

"Hmm..." He appears to contemplate it. "My dad asked my mom about it when I was a kid. I was about.._.ten_, I think."

"And...?" I prompt him.

"And she said, 'I gave you the son you wanted. What else do you want from me?'"

"Good god..."

"Why'd you ask?" he inquires after a moment of gazing curiously at me.

"You get on so well with Emmett, it's obvious you subconsciously long for a sibling," I state candidly.

"Yeah," his shoulders rise a third time, "but it is what it is," he feels the need to further reassure me, but I'm unhappy about the prospect of him leaving and returning home. Primarily because, I'm anxious about him being away from me where anything could happen to him, but I also know I'll miss having him around; even if for the most part, he spends his evenings with Emmett. "I'm just glad I'll..." he doesn't elaborate, but then, I'm fairly certain I know what he was about to say.

"Be patient," I give him the same answer I've already repeated several times over the course of the last two weeks. Not a day goes by where he doesn't pester me to bring forward the date of turning him. "I'm not spending eternity with a teenager."

"But_ I'll_ be spending eternity with one," he teases me, nudging me a second time.

"I am eighty-six years old, junior. Don't forget it."

"How could I? Every day you remind me how much older than me you are," he mumbles to himself again. He still sulks as much as he ever did, but he's learned to internalize his tantrums knowing how they'll be received from me.

I sigh, but choose not to argue with him. It's tedious, and I'd rather not have him staging a silent sit-in by my door again anytime soon. "Fine—I'm sorry I called you _junior_," I relent, fighting to keep the condescension from my tone. It's a habit that's hard to break.

"I forgive you," he replies, his tone instantly lighter, releasing my hand, he hooks his elbow around my neck.

"Would you mind not manhandling me?" I edge him back as he scoffs loudly.

"Manhandle you? I couldn't manhandle you if I tried. _You_ manhandle _me_. Jane told me, by the way," he switches tangents on a dime and tugs me closer to him again.

"Told you what?"

"That you _can_ have sex with me," he says brazenly as I immediately freeze to the spot and turn to him outraged.

"_What_?"

He raises his free hand in surrender. "I'm just the messenger."

"Son of an interfering bitch!" I grumble as he chuckles openly to himself. "You know why we can't," I offer up harshly in explanation.

"Well...not really..."

"We are not having this conversation," I snap, jerking my head away from him, and this is despite still seeing his smirk from my periphery. "I'd wipe that smile off your face, bucko," I mutter, but I'm not overly serious, and I suspect he's aware of it.

"So...you keep telling me I'm your mate, but you can't be honest with me..." he says before deliberately clearing his throat.

"_Honest_?" I echo, irritated by his assumptions as I return my narrowing eyes to his. "If you'd like me to do to you what I've done to several other teenage males, we can do it right now."

His smirk twitches wider even as his breath gushes through his nose in half concealed amusement. "You're really high strung, you know that?"

I huff only half beneath my breath, but again, I don't reply. He's too clever for his own good, and he's already outwitted me on several occasions.

"We could lead up to it. I mean, without you breaking any of my bones," he suggests, and when I again turn my head to gauge him, he draws his shoulders and smiles. He's not playing word games with me this time, I realize.

"Is it really that important to you?" I ask, releasing a wearied-sounding breath. Twelve months ago if anyone told me a human would have been exhausting me to this extent, I would have thought they were insane.

"Uh—_yeah_," he replies without hesitation.

"You do realize it's unessential for vampires, right?" I arch a brow in emphasis. "We don't procreate."

He scoffs as if he thought it were ridiculous. "For something so_ unessential_, you guys sure do it an awful lot."

"And how do you know that?" I demand.

He opens his mouth to answer, but breaks into a discernible grin. "Emmett told me."

"Of course, he did," I mutter.

"Plus, I've been living there for a while, and I'm not an idiot."

"120 IQ. I haven't forgotten."

"So...?"

With a pointed sigh, I turn to him. "_So_?"

"We gonna.._.try_ it?" His eyebrows pull high and his grin almost becomes toothy.

"Good god," I mumble, dropping my head to my splayed palm.

"That a _yes_?" he continues to push.

"Edward..." I complain, sounding wholly _unlike_ myself.

"You said you wanted me to show you what love is," he reminds me, undeterred.

"The last time I checked, sex wasn't love," I answer sarcastically.

"It can be, though."

"Has it been for you?" I explicitly ask.

He shrugs again, simply this time. "No, but..."

"_But_...?"

"I saw it in your mind. You want to, as well."

"I _thought _about it," I correct him. "There's a difference."

"People usually don't think about things they don't want to do," he points out, the smirk returning to his lips, and I have to admit it, he's entirely too cagey. He'll be one formidable immortal, that's for damn sure.

"How far do you think coercing me into sex will get you?" I challenge, coming to a standstill beside him.

"I don't want to coerce you, I just want to progress beyond kissing you."

I huff and bow my head a second time, fighting to keep my groan internalized. "Okay!" I completely concede with impatience. "We can _lead up to it_," I quote back to him, "but continue to push me and I'll put an end to it—am I clear?"

"Yes, boss," he says, his grin growing sunny, and rolling my eyes, I continue walking again, tugging him roughly behind me.

"Can I ask a question?" he pipes up after a single blessed minute of silence.

"You usually do," I answer dryly.

"How come all vampires are..._thin_," he goes with after a pause.

I sigh minutely to myself. "Because ketosis is a metabolic state native only to humans, and we don't tend to run out of food."

There's no answer, and when I turn to appraise him, he's frowning in obvious confusion. "I have absolutely no idea what you just said."

"Fat cells are considered waste when a human is turned," I explain in lay-terms.

"So, on top of becoming superhuman, you get liposuction as well." He chuckles at his own words.

"You say the strangest things sometimes." I shake my head to myself.

He only grins out his continued amusement, when his expression turns fractionally more sedate. "Hey?" He taps my shoulder; he does it subconsciously, and I'm beginning to find it almost endearing.

"Hmm?"

"We gonna try _leading up to it _tonight?" This boy really doesn't know when to quit while he's still breathing.

"Ad nauseam, junior," I say in deliberate monotone.

In response, his breath gushes from his nose in silent laughter.

With a slightly exasperated huff, I turn to him again. "Is there some significance behind this that I should be aware of?"

"You should already be aware of it."

"Care to enlighten me?" I cock a dubious brow.

"You're my _girlfriend_," he mocks me, grinning again from my replying scowl, "and we're not kids. Plus, you jerked me off in front of a hundred vampires." I roll my eyes, struggling to hold off my fast emerging smile. "And you're—"

"If you say I'm _fucking hot_," I cut in imitating him, "I'll strangle you."

His grin broadens more and that's when I realize he's enjoying himself. "Insanely beautiful," he corrects me, but I'm not remotely convinced.

"_Rose_ is _insanely beautiful_," I state, dismissing him. "In appearance, I'm an A-typical vampire."

"The hell you are!" he insists. "Blondie is..._plastic_. ...What?" he asks blankly in reference to my scoff.

"You do realize we're within Emmett's earshot." We're less than half a mile from the house, in fact.

His expression immediately smooths out in alarm. "But...you're shielding me, right?"

I smirk. "I'm shielding _me_, but even if I was shielding the house, I don't have the ability to mute another vampire's hearing."

"Shit...Think he heard me?" His eyes dart in every direction as though he expects his vampire BFF to charge out of the bushes at him.

"If he did, he'd have killed you by now, so more than likely _no_."

"Ah..." he mumbles, smiling to himself sheepishly.

"You should be able to hear his thoughts..." I deliberately allude.

He regards me for a moment before his eyes dart in the direction of the house. He immediately frowns, almost appearing confused, and moves to turn back to me, but my attention is already beyond him, and on the newly-created vampire half a second away from tearing his throat out.

It's Tia, and her blood-red eyes are alight by that insatiable, all-consuming hunger every newborn is inflicted with. It's the innate, uncontrollable drive to feed, to kill, while blinding the vampire to all rationality; all reason.

I don't have time to think, and my actions are stemmed from pure instinct. Just as she lunges for Edward, I intercept her. Wrapping both hands around her throat, I crush her vertebrae and almost tear her head from her torso in the same motion.

She instantly flails and falls limply to the ground, her gaze fixed and flooding with shock even as her body rapidly heals. In a matter of seconds, she will resume her hunt for my mate, and I realize I have no choice but to kill her. Just as the decision is cemented in my mind, though, Emmett and Jasper appear and immediately subdue her.

"Edward!" I grab him around the waist and yank him roughly behind me as my eyes dart rapidly in every direction.

"I'm okay," he insists, but by the jerky fluidity of his voice, he's as confused as he is anxious.

"We've got her," Emmett assures me, dragging Tia to her feet. Her fangs are drawn and her mouth hangs open, but her expression is almost slackened from Jasper's debilitating calm.

"Get her away from me," I threaten in a deadly tone, and without another word, Emmett turns and leads her toward the house; his iron grip on her not wavering.

"_Rose_!" I scream, just as she appears before me with a guilt-laden Jane in tow. "You!" I practically growl, thrusting an accusing finger an inch from Jane's face. "You who can instantly take down every vampire in existence and yet you let this pitiful wretch attack my _MATE_!" I take a single step toward her, and with her hands raised and her expression flooding with alarm, Jane immediately stumbles away from me.

"I'm so sorry, Bella," she appeals to me. "She was with Esme—I thought she was fine."

"_Fine_?" I articulate the audacity of it. I open my mouth to continue, only to be cut off as Edward encloses his arms around me and pulls my back flush against his chest.

"Bella, it's okay. I-I'm okay," he stammers against my ear, the shock and confusion remaining palpable behind his voice. "Just _calm down_."

"_Calm down_?" I echo, laughing once without humor. I don't move to free myself from him, though; instead I angle my head to meet his uneasy gaze. "Do you realize how easily she could have killed you?"

"But she didn't," he points out.

"But she _could have_."

"But she _didn't_!" he stubbornly stands firm. "Bella..."

I sigh audibly, allowing my shoulders to sag with it, and hang my head. In response, Edward only tightens his arms around me.

"You okay, bitch?" Rose asks, tentatively placing her hand to my cheek.

I nod dully, becoming increasingly distracted, my eyes remaining fixed to the ground. "I'm fine."

"Bella..." Jane's small voice draws my attention back to her. I raise my head slowly and meet her apprehensive gaze. "I'm so sorry," she adds practically without sound.

I nod a second time behind a conceding breath. "I know..."

"She's okay," Edward appears to reassure her, even as he refuses to relax his embrace from around me.

"I'm right here," I reply, my voice sounding oddly robotic, but the fact that he believes he can somehow keep me restrained is forcing an almost ironic smile to twitch on my lips.

"You might want to take your newborn away for the meantime," Rose suggests seriously to Jane. "It's her safety you should be concerned about, not Edward's."

Jane nods, her eyes darting back to me as though in validation. Through mine, she can clearly see the threat to her newest child. In all probability, I would tear her heart out if given the chance, and Jane is intimately aware of it.

She was turned a week ago. Carlisle oversaw it. He placed her in an induced coma, attaching tubes and wires to multiple parts of her body to facilitate her transformation as orderly and systematically as possible. It took fourteen hours, and the only sign that she wasn't as peaceful as she appeared was her heartrate. It averaged one-hundred-and-eighty beats per minute, and every single being in the room, bar one, knew exactly what was happening skin-deep.

Around halfway through her transition, Carlisle removed the tubes and Esme gave her a sponge bath and dressed her. Her skin was already cooling, her pores decreasing, and her facial features grew more refined by the minute.

For the most part, Edward was reluctant to be involved, and despite Carlisle's efforts to keep him informed, he appeared disturbed by the whole process. By the time Tia was ready to wake, I removed him from the house and let him drive the two of us to Port Angeles. A newborn will awaken with voracious hunger, and despite the presence of eight other immortals in the house, I wasn't about to risk him. He practically jumped the instant I suggested it as though he couldn't leave the house fast enough.

Tia was born into immortality carrying a lot of trauma over from her life experiences, and even after a week of feeding, she was not even remotely tame enough to be around Edward. Jane should have been aware of this, Carlisle and Esme even more so, and it's the knowledge of it that's continuing to feed my anger.

I'm so angry in fact, that if Tia were to appear before me, I'd kill her without hesitation. It's a revelation that causes me to pause. A vampire will kill another if it's to protect their mate, and that's the moment I realize, the moment it becomes real to me. Without this confounding, completely maddening human boy beside me, I would cease to exist.

**. . .**

There isn't time enough after for proper farewells, and it bothers me more than I can rationalize to see Jane leave, to know the life she's returning to.

"Promise to come again—after he's turned," I insist when she takes me impulsively into her arms.

"Of course, I will," she assures me, quickly kissing my cheek. "I'm truly sorry, Bella. I took her around humans this morning, I thought—"

"It's fine," I attempt ease her guilt, but Jane knows it's conjecture. She's aware of what would have happened to Tia had Emmett and Jasper not intervened.

"Do you understand now?" she asks almost apprehensively, after several pauses where she appeared to be canvassing every inch of my face.

I nod once, casting my eyes to the ground. I'm doing that an awful lot lately, but I feel almost exposed. "I understand."

"You were prepared to kill for him. To kill _me_..."

I glance up at her, and she frowns severing my gaze. Still, I scoff out how ridiculous it is. "No matter how angry I am at you, I'd never come even remotely close to killing you."

She quirks a contradictory brow. "I've lived for how many centuries? And not once have I ever truly feared for my life the way I did today. Your eyes turned black, Bella. They're still black..."

"I know," I admit behind a gushing breath. I've never felt anger so tangible in my life, but I remained in complete control. I can barely comprehend it. "Thank you very kindly for that little piece of information you decided to give him, by the way," I add with overly feigned sarcasm, because someone has to lighten the mood.

She breaks into an immediate smile. "You're very welcome."

"Now he expects me to take him to my room and let him—as though that's ever going to happen," I add ruefully, and this time, she lightly chuckles.

"I hope you're going to oblige him, and I want every detail," she says slyly.

"I'd rather die."

"For _him_, sweet Bella," she says, placing her index finger lightly to the tip of my nose. "You'd die for _him_."

I sigh with only semi-teasing exasperation. "Alright, be gone with you."

Laughing, she again pulls me to her and encloses me in her arms. "Don't delay it," she murmurs against my earlobe before planting her lips quickly to my temple.

I nod, and turning, Jane takes a single step and is gone. She and Tia are traveling on foot. It's the only safe way to travel with a newborn, even across oceans.

Expelling a heavy breath, I make my way toward the house slower than the speed Edward and I walked home.

Mother Dearest is waiting for me just inside the foyer. "Sweetheart," she places her arm around my shoulder as though she's torn between comforting me and restraining me, "you might want to hunt. Rose agreed to go with you."

"Good god, Esme, I'm fine," I say with a huff, shrugging from her embrace and heading toward my room.

Edward's waiting for me, lazing across my chaise like he usually does. He immediately sits up as I enter, swinging his long legs to the side.

"Hey." He sounds anxious and immediately pulls himself to his full height over me. "Shit, Bella, your eyes..."

"They're black, I know." He likes to comment on the color of them; he likes to comment on _most things_ about me.

"You okay?" His voice softens, even as his eyebrows raise and a slight smirks tugs on his lips.

"I'm fine. You?"

"I'm good," he replies simply. "I barely saw it happen, but you were pretty badass." He tilts his head down at me and winks, and in response, I can only roll my eyes.

I still have no rational way of reacting to these human impulses of his. They're completely blindsiding me, and what's making it infinitely worse, is he's becoming well aware of it.

"I need to hunt," I add, breaking his shrewd gaze awkwardly. "Think you can entertain yourself while I'm gone?"

"Take me with you," he petitions.

"I did that once—it didn't work out well for either of us," I remind him wryly.

"You let me see you kill, not feed," he counters.

"You do realize those two things are usually synonymous, right?"

He pauses and breaks into a conceding smile. "Okay, you have me there, but take me with you anyway."

"Maybe next time," I mumble, as my hand raises subconsciously to the base of my neck. His scent is steadily deluging me and the accompanied thirst is beginning to serrate my throat.

"...What?" he replies in obvious confusion after I all but pull up short, my eyes snapping acutely to his.

I open my mouth to reply, but immediately hesitate as distraction overruns me. I have no answers to offer. I'm in a state of extreme thirst while the one human on the planet whose blood appeals to me above all else stands alive and well a foot away from me. In fact, never before has he been safer in my presence.

It makes absolutely no sense.

Until it does.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading :)**


	27. Chapter 26

**A/N: I've been shit at updating on time lately, I know. I've had zero desire to write. I'm blocked af! Seriously nothing is getting through atm. Fingers crossed is buggers off asap.  
Thanks, Kim for editing and Melinda for pre-reading.  
xoxo**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 26**

"I didn't let him see me hunt," I pre-empt the tirade I'm expecting from Mommy Dearest.

She's waiting in the foyer for us, her arms folded tersely over her chest; it's usually not a good sign.

I relented and took Edward with me while I fed. I'm caving constantly where he's concerned now, and too readily.

Like the time previous, we headed east, but unlike before, I didn't allow him to witness anything. While he wandered around Sequim, I frequented the back allies and other less desirable parts of the small town.

I didn't kill, either. I'm still not sure why, nor do I want to delve further into it just yet. Still, it came with its own problems. I had to feed from more than one person, and taking a third of the blood I require on extreme thirst only made Edward's more desirable to me.

After feeding from the first vagrant I knocked unconscious, I staggered from behind the filthy dumpster and followed my senses back to him.

"What? You okay?" he asked after I located him in front of a GameStop and proceeded to drag him toward the nearest alley.

He quickly realized what was happening, and bending slightly down to accommodate me, he willingly allowed me to take his blood. The concerns I once had about unwittingly killing him have long since passed. I have enough control of myself now to stop before he's evenly remotely in danger, no matter how far down the depths of blood lust I plunge.

Still, he reacted adversely, and after healing the puncture wounds I created on the base of his neck, I pulled back only to realize he was barely conscious. He was sheet white, and I was forced to hold him upright while his knees buckled beneath him.

"Jesus—did I take too much?" I blurted, shaking him slightly in my increasing panic. I was positive I'd taken half the standard amount donated, but his reaction was definitely making me question.

"Bella..." he whispered, closing his eyes as his chin thudded to his chest, "put me down."

I complied, and after carefully lowering him to the ground and releasing my hold around him, he immediately slumped to his hands and knees with his head hanging low. He moaned softly to himself, and kneeling before him, I cupped my hand to his cheek and tilted his face to mine.

"Talk to me. What's happening?" I asked, my voice so compromised by concern, I barely recognized myself behind it.

His eyes squinted open and a drunken smile tugged slowly on his lips. "You're warm," he said in a hopelessly croaky voice.

"Good god..." I muttered, unsure whether to be relieved or annoyed at myself.

He recovered quickly, though. Within minutes, the color returned to his cheeks, and he pulled himself somewhat clumsily—with my assistance—to his feet. My blood was still circulating in his system, making him fast healing, and apart from looking slightly dazed and shell-shocked, he was fine. I, on the other hand, was everything_ but _fine.

"What happened?" I repeated, running my hand over my forehead and through my hair.

"I think you...took it too quickly," he explained. "I just got woozy for a sec."

"You need sugar," I mumbled, severing my eyes from his to stare down at the open street beyond.

"I'm okay," he insisted. "You finished feeding? Your eyes are still...dark..."

I turned back to him, meeting his gaze and wanting to shy away from the intensity behind his eyes. "Go find somewhere to eat. I'll call you when I'm done." I took a step away from him when he reached out and grabbed my elbow. "What?" I questioned, glancing at him over my shoulder.

"You okay?" His brows were drawn, and whatever was going on in that head of his, it was obvious he was concerned about me.

"I'm fine," I assured him, breaking into a small smile despite myself. "Go. I won't be long."

I wasn't. Two thugs and one raging alcoholic later, I made my way back to him. After trailing his scent, I found him inside a pizza parlor shoving a large slice of it down his throat.

"How'd you find me?" he asked, his cheeks full of food.

I raised my brows pointedly and grimaced simultaneously at the repulsive way this boy likes to eat. "Ready to go?"

"Sure." He jumped up from the chair and wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

"You need a doggy bag or something?" I asked, motioning dubiously to the half-eaten pizza with my chin.

"Nah, it's fine." He half-chuckled at my reaction before grabbing two slices from the box. "What?"

"Nothing," I conceded with a sigh. "Let's go."

"Your eyes are red again," he pointed out the obvious as we were walking back to the car.

"You don't say," I murmured.

"I prefer when they're red," he added, bending down to speak against my ear.

"Do you..." I said wryly, tugging my keys from my pocket and handing them to him. He likes to drive my car and I was happy to oblige him.

"How long will you stay warm?" he inquired after starting the engine and backing away from the curb.

"A couple of hours," I replied, turning to him with growing suspicion. He'd already asked me this, and his question was entirely too simple. "_Why_?"

"When we get back, why don't we..." he didn't elaborate, but his expression alone was explanation enough.

"Stop!" I warned him. "Didn't I tell you not to push me?"

"I have to," he countered undeterred. "If I don't say anything, you never will."

I huff, but knowing I had to give him something, I relented. "I'll think about it—but _leading up to it_," I quoted his own words back to him in reminder.

He broke into a cheesy grin, and unable to contain my own, I let it loose. "Oh my god..." I mumbled, wanting to scoff to myself from the sheer bewilderment of what this boy was doing to me. "Not at the house. In case you've forgotten, there are six other vampires who live there who will hear _everything_ we do."

"We can go to my folk's house," he suggested, his smile only broadening.

"Fine," I replied a little too stiffly, but it's not like I was exactly averse to the idea. With fresh blood plowing through my veins, every one of my senses was heightened, and until this kid beside me came along, I had no outlet for it.

I left the car out front; there was no point in parking it in the garage if we were only going to leave again soon, and the instant we walked through the front door, we were faced with Mommy Dearest.

"She didn't, Mrs. Cullen," Edward immediately backs me up after my mother set her unconvinced gaze on him. "While she hunted, I ate dinner."

Her expression softens and she flashes him a warm smile. "That's not what I wanted to speak to you about," she clarifies. "Your father and I would like to speak to the two of you," she addresses me this time, before holding out her arm for us to follow, and while Edward doesn't hesitate, I'm forced to suppress my emerging groan.

She leads us in the direction of Carlisle's study. He's waiting inside seated at his desk, and when we enter, he stands and motions toward the couch along the opposite wall. "Please have a seat, Edward."

Edward takes it apprehensively before gazing up at me with a heavily knotting brow. I choose to stand.

"What's this about now?" I ask after expelling a deliberate breath.

"Since Edward will be returning home soon, I think, Bella, it would be wise if you stop feeding him your blood," Carlisle replies stoically after once more sitting himself behind his mahogany desk.

"Fine," I answer casually, surprised it was so simple.

"—I-I'm not going home," Edward immediately breaks in and there's an edge of desperation to his voice; something he reiterates further by pulling himself to his feet beside me.

"It will only be for the present time, Edward," Carlisle assures him patiently. "It's important that you continue to maintain a normal front."

Shaking his head, Edward reaches out and grabs my hand. "You don't understand, Dr. Cullen. My-my mother's always resented moving to Forks because of me, and my dad's entire life is his job, I..."

"Edward." He sighs before pointedly making eye contact with me, and it's not exactly hard to ascertain what he's thinking. He blames Edward's unusual attachment squarely on me. "Have you decided on a date, Bella?"

"After graduation," I answer matter-of-factly.

"Edward?" Carlisle turns to him for validation.

He shrugs petulantly. "That's fine, I just—"

"Edward!" I interject. "Stop it—it's not as though you won't see me."

"Sweetheart," Esme speaks up just as he opens his mouth to continue arguing. "It's only for a couple of months, and like Carlisle said, it's important that you don't arouse any suspicions."

With a defeated sigh, Edward bows his head and lets it go. "Yeah, I know..."

"Edward," Carlisle continues, "after the effects of Bella's blood wears off, all the sleep you've missed will catch up on you. Your parents are bound to notice you sleeping three days straight."

"They wouldn't notice if I _wasn't_ sleeping," he explains, releasing my hand to shove both of his in the pockets of his jeans.

"But they will notice the change in you," Carlisle adds tactfully. "Bella's blood has awarded you with more than sleepless nights. Your senses are heightened, your eyes are sharper, and your strength has doubled. Around our family, it more or less goes without notice, but around humans it won't."

Edward pauses for a moment as though contemplating it further, before he nods slowly, but it's clear he's not happy about it.

"Is that all you wanted to speak to us about?" I ask, and with a sedate-sounding sigh, Carlisle tilts his head in affirmation.

"We'll discuss his turning more when the time comes."

**. . .**

"I thought I had to move in with you," Edward mumbles as he follows after me up the stairs toward my room. "What was the point of signing the contract if you're making me go back to my folk's home?"

"That's when you were just going to be my pet," I reply with an edge of exasperation behind my voice. I'm constantly repeating myself where he's concerned. It's human nature, though. They believe if they ask the same questions enough the answers will eventually change.

He huffs, and when I turn to glance at him over my shoulder, I see that he's scowling.

"No tantrums," I warn him.

"I'm not having a tantrum!" he retorts.

"Oh, stop it. You're behaving like a child," I point out, rolling my eyes.

"I don't like being away from you. It makes me fucking...on edge," he snaps this time jerking his head away he drags his fingers through his hair.

"I'll come and keep you company at nights," I say, my tone a tad too condescending.

"I'll be asleep," he mutters in some kind of accusation; as though it were my idea to stop giving him my blood. Carlisle's right, though. There's been a discernible change to his appearance the last several days. He's even more handsome than he usually is.

With a pointed sigh, I stop at the landing and fold my arms across my chest. "Go take a look at yourself in the mirror and tell me if you notice anything."

He jerks a shoulder. "So, I'll tell them I got contacts. They believe me at school."

"Do you think this is a game?" I demand, becoming impatient with his whining. "Or would you willingly place my entire family in danger just to play those idiotic video games with Emmett every night?"

He opens his mouth, but immediately falters. "That's...that's not what I mean...I just—"

"We're not talking about this!" I put my foot down before returning to my room.

He follows again dolefully, sitting down on my daybed and gazing at me steadily. "Bella..." he mumbles.

"What?" I ask, dropping my forehead to my palm and sighing minutely to myself. He is completely exhausting me.

"I love you."

I sigh a second time; momentously, this time. "I know you do." My voice softens, and I sit myself beside him and place my hand to his knee. "Just be patient, okay?"

A smile ghosts on his lips and his shoulder's visibly relax. "You love me, too?" he asks, sounding a little too vulnerable for me to rationalize.

"You're my mate, aren't you?" I say ruefully, playfully slapping his cheek. "No more word games, remember?"

His brow knots and he fights the obvious urge to grin. "Why do you always think I'm playing word games?"

"Because you do it constantly," I reply dryly. "You're too clever for your own good." I move to pull myself to my feet, when in a single motion, he grabs my hand and pulls me on his lap.

"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice falling to a murmur as he curls his arms around my waist.

"Just stay put for a while," he replies, tightening his grip and resting his chin on my shoulder.

"Hmm..." I wrap my hands over his, enjoying the warmth of him encasing me.

"You don't put up any resistance anymore," he mumbles after a moment, sounding distracted.

"What?" I ask with open amusement.

"I mean, not that long ago you wouldn't let me budge you an inch."

"Would you like me to go back to that?" I turn my head to meet his gaze from my periphery.

His breath gushes from his nose and he breaks into an immediate smile. "No. Fuck, it's still weird..."

"What is?"

"You feel like this delicate little thing in my arms."

"Because you've bought into the illusion that I'm harmless." I'm repeating myself again.

"I know," he replies out of some kind of irony.

"And _little thing_? We've been over that already, junior."

He groans openly in reaction. "No more _junior_."

"No more comparisons to flower petals," I counter drolly, and he laughs this time.

"You _feel_ like a flower petal but you have a glare that could sink a thousand ships." His laughter increases, and what he's finding so amusing, I have no idea.

"Okay...You wanna let me go now?" Wrapping an arm around his shoulders, I half turn to face him.

"You first." He smirks, and rolling my eyes, I jerk on his earlobe. He pulls out all stops not to react to it, but fails. "We gonna go back to my folks home?" He doesn't miss a beat and I almost balk.

"Are you fucking with me right now?" I ask, scoffing out my near disbelief. This boy is hornier than a tomcat.

"I told you, I'd _like _to, but you keep fighting me on it," he says with a cheeky grin.

"I remember," I say cynically, "and five minutes later, I found you face-down with Lauren Mallory!"

"I'd just met you—it was either her or my hand."

"Glad to know I'm so easily substituted."

"You were in my head the whole time."

"Do you expect me to be flattered?" I arch a brow, and he laughs again, half beneath his breath this time.

"That was the last time, you know." He releases a hand from around me to rub his forehead.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, the next day you tried to kill me, and then you were gone for a while, and then you tried to kill me again, and...here we are." He raises his eyebrows waiting for me to get the punchline, but I'm not falling for it.

"Am I supposed to pity you, or something?

He scoffs, but I'm not sure of his meaning, nor does he elaborate on it. "How long has it been for you?"

"I told you already, I'm a virgin."

"You know what I mean..."

I ponder it for a moment before answering. "I don't consider that sex. It was just an inventive way to kill them while satisfying my curiosity."

His expression becomes almost dazed, before he shakes his head. "Jesus, so they died from you..." He can't finish.

"Not exactly, but I broke a few pelvises along the way." I smirk to myself from more than one memory.

His face pales, and I'm forced to suppress the desire to laugh. "Am I in danger of...?"

"_Maybe_," I allude, running my index finger across his jawline.

He gazes at me for several moments before he scoffs, evidently deciding to call my bluff. "You're just trying to spook me."

"If you say so..." I pull myself languidly from his lap. "Who gave you my cell number, by the way?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"Do you still have it saved?"

"Should do..." Getting to his feet, he grabs his iPhone and scrolls through it for a moment before holding it out in display.

My name and number are all that's written in the text, but it's the number on the top of the screen that immediately makes me see red. "ALICE!"

**. . .**

"OW!" Edward bursts after the sixth consecutive time I gripped his forearm the instant his fingers came into contact with my breast.

"It's a reflex," I explain with a sigh, becoming just as frustrated as he is.

"This is hopeless," he mutters to himself.

"It's sixty-eight years of habit. Do you think I can just throw it off in five minutes?—and I heard that!" I scowl at him.

He groans loudly, and bowing his head, he drags his hand over his forehead and through his hair. "We're getting nowhere."

"This isn't exactly getting me in the mood."

"What does get you in the mood?" he puts to me, in the midst of one of his tantrums again.

"What do you think?" I reply sarcastically.

He scoffs. "Yeah, well, maybe I'm sick of being your juice box all the damn time."

"Maybe _I'm_ sick of _you_!" I respond in kind, pulling myself from his bed beside him less than impressed. "If all you're after is sex, go hit up _Lauren_, and don't forget to think about me while you're fucking her."

His head snaps up and he actually glares at me. "You're a bitch."

My patience severs, and in an instant, I'm against him, pinning him back against his mattress. "I'm fast growing tired of your hissy-fits, little boy," I practically growl.

He only stares at me for a moment, his entire expression smoothing out in surprise. "Holy shit," he utters, before a discernible smirk grows lazily across his face. "That was _fucking hot_."

I huff out my continued disbelief over him and slowly shake my head. "You're killing me."

After relaxing my grip on both his wrists, he pulls a hand free and snakes it around the nape of my neck. "I'm sorry," he mumbles half a second before he merges his lips with mine.

Kissing is fine. I can manage kissing—I even enjoy it. Sure, my fangs draw and I accidentally bite him more than once, but it's so easy to lose myself with him and that too warm flesh of his. That is, of course, until he rolls his body on top of mine, and I feel that very obvious, implacably hard male organ of his behind the material of his jeans.

In bone-crushing speed, I flip him over until I'm straddled over him, my hands once again around his wrists, restraining him. "If this _ever_ happens between us, I won't be beneath you," I almost strangle out, the tone of my voice hard and final.

Edward's mouth falls open, but without a word, he closes it again and hesitates. "Bella..." be begins apprehensively. "What did they do to you?"

I don't answer, and without releasing him, I glance toward the partially open window.

"Did...they _rape you_?" His voice loses volume, and with an impatient huff, I turn back to face him.

"You've asked me that already."

"But they tried to." It's not a question this time.

I half nod in admission, and expelling a breath, I pull myself from over him and sit on the edge of his bed.

"Bella..." He moves beside me and takes my hand, attempting to pull me closer to him. I don't allow him to this time. "I'd never do that to you. You know that, right?" He's serious, incredibly so, but I still nearly laugh.

"You forgot again?" I tilt my head in emphasis when he flashes me a look of confusion.

It only takes a moment or two for recollection to hit him. "I...shit." He shakes his head quickly to himself. "I mean..."

"I know what you mean," I concede, reaching out to tug gently on a wayward strand of his hair. "If I was human, you wouldn't..." I abandon it in a murmur, my eyes finding his untidy hardwood floor.

"How about I promise you when I'm a vampire I'll never do anything like that to you?" I glance back up at him, and as his eyes meet mine, he pulls no stops on the charm, but I still laugh; I can't help it. "Why is that funny?"

"You ever do and you'll quickly regret it," I say, though I'm not serious.

"I wouldn't—Bella, _what_?"

"It's highly unlikely you'll be stronger than I am," I state matter-of-factly.

He blinks, quickly falling back into confusion. "But I'm bigger...I'm..."

"_Male_?" I finish for him, cocking a brow.

"Yeah... What?"

"You'll be prettier than I am, bucko, but I'll still be stronger."

"How do you know?" he puts to me, clearly not convinced.

"I was born into this life with a lot of anger and an overwhelming desire for vengeance. Your emotions at the time of being turned determine a lot about what kind of immortal you'll be."

His brow knots and he pauses to contemplate it. "So, Emmett's not as strong as he is because of his build?"

"He's as strong as he is because he was pissed off he couldn't fight off the grizzly bear that killed him. Strength was on his mind as he was transforming. It's just a coincidence that he's so big."

He falls quiet again, the cogs in his brain clearly turning over. "So...I'm just going to be a pretty boy who won't be as strong as my vampire bride," he mutters, and he's not happy about it at all.

"A _mind-reading_ pretty boy," I clarify, struggling to hold off my laughter, because _vampire bride_? This boy watches way too many movies.

"I can do that now," he dismisses with that jerky, one-shouldered shrug of his.

"Every ability you have as a human will carry over and be enhanced a hundredfold. You'll be an incredibly gifted vampire."

"Still..." he mumbles, bowing his head and running his hand to the back of his neck, "how the hell am I supposed to protect you?"

"I can protect myself, Clark Gable," I point out wryly. "Good god, you're not going to force 1950s sexual politics on me, are you? I lived through it, you forget."

He scoffs to himself and shakes his head. "I haven't forgotten, but... Never mind..."

"Has anyone ever told you, you think entirely too much?" I say with a definitive affection behind my words—something he notices.

He smiles at me warmly and backtracks. "Who's Clark Gable?"

"You don't know who Clark Gable is?" I ask dubiously.

"...That guy from that...movie...?"

"Yes, he's _that guy from that movie_," I say dryly.

He huffs. "You know what I mean—stop doing that!"

"Doing what?"

"Making me feel like an idiot." His tantrum is setting in again, and despite myself, I almost laugh.

"Do I—"

"I might not have eighty-six years of lived experience but I'm not stupid," he cuts me off.

"I don't think you're stupid," I assure him truthfully, because I don't. "You realize you'll more than likely be smarter than I am, right?"

"Yeah?" He tilts his head in thought. "I'd rather be stronger," is his conclusion.

I can only shake my head. "You and your pride."

He shrugs again but doesn't reply.

"You were supposed to be feeling me up, and now you're turning mopey over what kind of vampire you'll be," I attempt to change the mood. He's a definite enigma this boy, and I find it hard to believe I was actually prepared to kill him at one point.

He turns to me, the grin reappearing across his face. "You going to break my arm if I do?"

"Possibly," I say lightly, flicking his chin. "You're too handsome to pout, so stop it."

"Okay," he obliges me, leaning slightly toward me when he stops himself. "...Bella?"

"Hmm?"

He gazes steadily at me, his expression completely reversing. "Are you ever going to tell me what happened to you?"

* * *

**A/N: Remember I said Bella would mellow?  
Hoped you enjoyed and thanks for reading.**


	28. Chapter 27

**A/N: So, I've finally been writing. This block was chronic, I tell you, but fingers crossed this purge, or whatever the hell it is, lasts. Ugh.  
Thanks to Kim, who edited, and Melinda and Leigh for pre-reading. Love yas.**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 27**

Just as Carlisle predicted, two days after I stopped feeding Edward my blood he slept. Actually, to say he simply slept is a gross under-exaggeration. He was practically comatose, and he almost didn't make it home from school. I was forced to practically carry him from the car, and when I got to my room I was confronted by a very masculine-looking king-sized bed front and center, opposite where my chaise once sat.

I could only shake my head at my parents' lack of consideration for everything when it comes to me, as Edward, dead on his feet and barely lucid, proceeded to strip clumsily down to his underwear, and crawled beneath the covers. He was out the instant his head hit the pillow.

He slept for seventy-eight consecutive hours, and during that time I realized several things, but two more prominently. The first, it's insane how adorable he is while asleep, and the second, the anxiety I had that he wouldn't wake up again only solidified the fact that this human is indeed my mate.

While Edward wasn't at school, I point blank refused to go without him. For once, Esme didn't fight me on it, and Carlisle actually called in to report all four of us, Rose and Emmett included, had been struck down by a virus.

I stayed by his side with every one of my senses trained on the soft rhythmic sound of his breathing and the body of muscles in his back steadily rising and falling.

Around midday on the third day—the day his parents are due to return home—he started to stir, but it took another couple of hours before he fully woke; only then could I breathe a sigh of relief.

Until I realized something wasn't quite right with him.

**. . .**

"You feeling okay?" I ask after he stumbles from the bathroom, sitting himself on the edge of the bed and dropping his head heavily into his hands. He's unusually pale, and despite the longevity of sleep he's just had, dark circles lay conspicuously beneath his eyes.

"Yeah..." he mumbles, his voice hopelessly cracked from obvious lack of use. "Just strung out."

"Hungry?" I add softly, placing my palm to his bare back.

His skin is warm, a little _too_ warm, and he immediately jolts as though I shocked him.

"Your hands are cold," he explains.

"Are they?" I say lightly, returning the rueful smile he flashes me, but I'm beginning to feel plagued by concern. "Come downstairs. Mommy Dearest is waiting to feed you."

He shakes his head grimacing. "I'm not hungry."

"Okay, what's the matter with you?" I demand, placing my hand to his brow this time, and that's when I realize he isn't just warm, he's _hot._ "Jesus—back in bed!" I order him.

He doesn't argue. It's one more red flag in a long line of them, and to make matters worse, Carlisle won't be home until much later tonight.

I call Esme. She takes one look at him and immediately frowns. "How are you feeling, sweetheart?" she asks in a soothing voice after taking his temperature; it's just over 102.

"Hung-over," Edward answers with a half moan before rolling to his back and draping a forearm over his face. "The light's...hurting my eyes."

"Would you like some Tylenol?" She places the back of her fingers against his forehead, as hers knots deeply.

Edward only shakes his head and groans again, more audibly this time.

"How about some juice?" she continues to press. "It's very likely you're dehydrated."

"Sure," he whispers, though, it's obvious he has no intention of drinking anything.

By the time Esme returns, orange juice in hand as well as a plate of cookies, Edward's fallen back to sleep.

"I'd say his blood sugar is low," she attempts to assure me, even as concern continues to mar her expression.

I nod, distracted. The very same concern lingering at the back of my mind refuses to budge. What makes it worse is I have absolutely nothing to compare him to. Vampires tend to kill their singers on sight, not feed them their blood.

He sleeps for another hour, but it's fitful and he tosses and turns so much he eventually wakes himself back up.

"I'm going to have to get you back home soon," I admit reluctantly.

"Bella..." he begins, but abandoning it behind a rustic-sounding moan, he slowly drags himself from the bed. "I still feel drunk," he mutters as he awkwardly pulls his legs through his jeans.

He's stiff and uncoordinated, and on impulse, my hands spring out to steady him. He's noticeably cooler I realize with an inward sigh of relief. "I'd say you're hung-over from too much sleep."

He laughs once and without humor. "Yeah."

"You should probably eat something," I echo my mother's sentiments after he yanks his sweater over his head.

"I'll be fine," he mumbles, flashing me a small smile and running his hand over his forehead and through his hair, making it even more chaotic. "What time is it?"

"Almost three-thirty in the afternoon."

He groans again semi-beneath his breath. "I should get going. The house is probably covered in dust."

"Esme had it cleaned yesterday," I inform him.

He pauses and glances up at me, his expression softening. "She didn't have to do that."

"She didn't clean it herself," I say lightly, but I'm still worried; he's discernibly _off_.

"I know," he mumbles, a slight blush covering his cheeks as he sits himself on the edge of the bed and bends down to tie his shoe laces.

"You really need to eat something," I insist, placing myself beside him.

He shakes his head. "My stomach's...not great."

I only sigh but don't offer anything in response. I absolutely detest feeling like this. Worrying about a human...

**. . .**

I have Edward back at "his folk's home" by five, and by that time his health has notably declined. Not only is his fever back, but his color is awful and he's descended into trembling.

The instant he reaches his bedroom, he ditches his clothes and pulls on a pair of sweats, before dragging himself awkwardly onto his neatly made bed. His entire room is in order, I quickly note, but that doesn't surprise me where Esme's concerned. She no doubt took one look at it and broke into hives.

He groans again, loudly this time, and pushes his face into his pillow. This time though, I almost echo him.

"Edward, something's wrong," I voice my concerns as I sit myself beside him. My hand, as though on auto-pilot, reaches out for him before catching myself, I withdraw it. "Try eating something and see if it makes you feel better."

"You're always telling me if I puke over you, you'll kill me," he points out as a hint of a smirk tugs on his lips, despite the fact that he's really beginning to look like death.

"I'm sure I'll forgive you," I reply a little too softly, but at the same time, I'm beginning to wrestle with serious anxiety.

It's obviously something Edward picks up on, too, and glancing over his shoulder, that smirk of his almost reappears. "Worried about me, are you?"

"Of course I am, you little shit!" I say a little too defensively. "Even think about dying on me, and I'll help you to it."

His smile this time is genuine. "I'm fine. Just..." Frowning, his eyes sever from mine.

"_Just_...?"

"Give me your blood?" he asks, his entire expression morphing with hope.

I open my mouth to respond, but closing it quickly, I shake my head. "I can't. It was beginning to...transform you."

He sighs audibly this time, before again planting his face flush to his pillow.

"What do you think you could stomach? Soup?" I ask, after a moment of watching him quiver into his mattress even as he made a concerted effort to prevent it.

"Are you going to make it?" he asks, turning sluggishly on his back.

"I'm sure I could manage it," I assure him wryly.

"You know how to use a microwave?" he puts to me, unconvinced.

"A..._what_?" I'm genuinely stumped, and in response, he chuckles, but his waning energy is heavily reflected in it.

"You don't know what a microwave is?"

"Evidently not." I arch a brow in silent warning. I have no tolerance for any human mocking me, especially Edward. Even now.

"Okay, I get that you don't eat, but do you watch..._TV_?"

"Sitcoms about humans eating? Sounds riveting," I say dryly.

He flashes me a sarcastic grin, then closes his eyes and turns away from me. "I'll be okay. Once I sleep this shit off..." he mumbles, but he's continuing to tremble, and it's beginning to vibrate his entire bed.

"Edward..." I begin when the sound of a car pulling into the drive immediately distracts me. I pull myself from his bed and walk with resigned steps to his window. As expected his parents are home. "I should go," I say over my shoulder.

"No," he protests weakly. "Please don't."

"You need to _sleep this shit off_," I remind him lightly, but my concern for him simmering skin deep is only increasing.

"Just, don't go. Even if I'm asleep. I-I...I don't know..." He expels his breath as though in frustration. "When you're not around, I can't think straight."

"What am I supposed to do?—hide in your closet?" I fold my arms across my chest and tilt my head, and for a fleeting moment, he almost grins.

"My folks rarely come in my—"

"Edward?" His sentence is cut short by the sounds of his mother's voice on the stairs.

He groans again. "Yeah?" He barely has the strength to raise his voice, and in response my heart falters. I'm beginning to think he's addicted to my blood and is going through withdrawal.

His doorknob turns and in an instant I leave, perching myself on the roof directly above his bedroom.

"What's the matter with you?" his mother demands in accusation. "Are you drunk? Is that what you've been doing the entire time we were away?"

"I have a virus—we all caught it," Edward complains, his voice taking on a jaded edge.

"Who is _we_?" she asks with notable suspicion behind her voice.

"Bella, Emmett, and Rose." He expels a resigned-sounding breath.

"The orphans the Cullens foster?" his mother surmises in blatant disapproval. "Didn't we discuss that?"

"Mom..." he mutters with a huff this time. "Bella's my girlfriend..."

"What happened to Lauren?" She's aghast, and on impulse I stiffen. It's probably prudent that I leave now. I really don't want a reason to kill this horrid, bigoted woman.

"I was never serious about her," Edward answers in a quiet, uneasy voice; he knows I can hear every word of this conversation. "Mom...can we talk about it later?"

"There's really nothing to say," she replies dismissively. "You know my feelings on the matter. In any sense, get some sleep." With that said, her footsteps retreat and the loud click of his door latching closed signals her leave.

"Bella?" Edward calls to me softly.

I don't reply; not until I'm sure his father isn't going to check up on his son in a similar manner do I re-enter his room. He remains lying on his back, one arm folded beneath his head.

"I'm sorry," he appeals to me softly, holding his free hand out to me.

I take it and sit on the edge of his bed again. "It's okay. I'm not exactly an ideal daughter-in-law," I tease him gently, but I'm more bothered by his mother's reaction than I'm prepared to admit.

"I'm still sorry. She's just a..." he abandons it with a heavy sigh. "They think they can tell me who to marry, along with everything else about my life," he mumbles.

"Stop worrying. I'm not that easily chased off," I assure him with a wink.

A smile ghosts over his lips before it inevitably falls. "Please don't kill her."

I almost laugh, needing to smother it through my nose. I can't help it; he seemed so sincere and earnest. "I won't."

He does smile this time, but all it does is impress upon me how unwell he is. "Good, now don't go anywhere."

"I'll come back when your parents have gone to bed."

He closes his eyes and groans to himself. "At least stay until I fall asleep."

I take a deliberate breath and relent; it's inevitable though, and something I'm constantly doing. "Okay." Reaching out, I run my fingers along his creased forehead and into the front of his hair. His skin is pallid, clammy and still hot to the touch. I immediately frown.

He notices, but there isn't much he doesn't nowadays. "What?"

I shake my head, and glance away, biting down on my lower lip as my thoughts brim over. "Nothing."

"I probably should eat," he mumbles, and I know it's to placate me.

I immediately break into a warm smile. "I'll get Esme to _microwave _you some soup."

His grin almost turns sunny and he tugs me closer to him; something I allow. "You really don't know what a microwave is?"

"That thing that cooks that other thing?" I joke, imitating his Clark Gable faux pas.

"Ha-ha," he says dryly, but the smile doesn't wane from his lips. Altogether it's pathetic. And adorable.

"I should go," I say abruptly after realizing I'd descended into smiling idiotically at him again.

"I'm not asleep yet," he complains, tightening his grip on my hand as though he can somehow prevent me from leaving.

"Well, close your eyes and shut up."

With yet another groan, he complies, and not five minutes later he dozes off, even as his body continues to quiver and flush with fever.

Not until I'm positive he's in the deepest phase of sleep do I rise to leave, but not before bending down to plant my lips gently to his brow. "I'll be back," I promise in a whisper.

When I leave to return to the house, I do so in human speed. I'm in no hurry to surround myself with my family with the way my mind is fermenting with so much uncertainty. I need to properly comprehend everything; to process it, if it's even possible at the moment.

I know one thing, though: I'm in turmoil over that damn handsome boy, and it's becoming more familiar than I have ever tolerated – even when I was a human.

Rose believes I'm in love with him, and for the first time since I've known him, I'm beginning to suspect she may be right. I barely know myself, and even now I want to shy away from it, whether it's true or not.

"How's he feeling?" Esme meets me at the entrance.

"He's..." With a small shake of my head I abandon it.

"I'm sure he'll be fine, sweetheart." She lays a consoling hand on my shoulder, but I don't share her confidence.

"When will Carlisle be home?" I ask, my eyes beyond her to Alice. My shield is lowered, and judging by the small nod Alice directs at me, she's aware of my motives. I need her to keep her senses sharply in tune to him right now.

"Around ten or eleven. Would you like me to ask him to leave early?" she suggests.

I look at her properly for the first time; she has a dish cloth draped over her shoulder as though she'd just done the dishes. Knowing my mother, she probably has, and by hand. She never could rid herself of that domestic streak that followed her into immortality. "No. I might...call him," I mumble, moving past her to head to my room. I dial Carlisle as I do. He usually picks up all calls. The Olympic Medical Center doesn't exactly keep him busy, and it's no different tonight.

"Bella," he states in that ever-sedate, patient tone of his.

"Carlisle—can you talk freely?" I say a little too abruptly.

"Yes. What is it?"

"I...think... I mean, I think Edward is chemically addicted...to my blood," I finish in a small voice, the shame seeping heavily behind every word.

He releases a wearied-sounding breath. "Your mother informed me he woke feeling unwell. It's very possible he's dehydrated and—"

"It's _more_ than that, Carlisle!" I insist, cutting him off.

"What are his symptoms?" he asks behind yet another sigh.

"Nausea, shaking, fever..."

"I see," he murmurs, clearly becoming lost in thought.

"Is there any knowledge...?" I abandon it, letting my mind stray. I'm fairly certain Edward and I are the exception to the rule in our world, and it gives me no comfort.

"Let me look into it," he promises. "I'll call when I know more."

"Thanks," I mumble, running my hand through my hair. It's something Edward often does, but it's a mannerism I'm not usually prone to.

"Are you with him now?"

"No. His parents don't exactly approve of me," I answer ruefully, and in response, Carlisle snorts softly to himself, alluding to his amusement. "Yes, it's hilarious."

"I can't say I'm surprised," he says lightly.

"It has nothing to do with me, and _everything _to do with the fact that his mother is an elitist old troll," I add, my voice darkening dangerously as I recall his mother's blatant prejudice toward not only me, but Rose and Emmett.

"She's _still_ his mother," he points out, because like Edward, he fully assumes I plan on killing her. Though, in all honestly, I'm not confident I still won't.

"I realize that," I speak in monotone. "I already promised him I wouldn't harm her."

"That's good, and you might want to return to him. There's no precedent that I know of when it comes to Edward, and I'd feel more at ease if I knew he wasn't alone."

"Okay—"

The word is barely passed my lips when Alice bursts into my room, a look of sheer panic overrunning her expression. "Bella, it's Edward! Get over there. _Now_!"

"What?—what's wrong with him?!" I demand, as my heart reacts to the very idea of it.

"He's"—she shakes her head erratically, her brow knotting with it as though whatever she's seen is confusing her—"he's sick—just go. Take Emmett, but go now!"

Jane was right about me; as a human I wasn't very dexterous, and as an immortal, while I'm strong, I'm by no means the fastest. That's Alice. But with the thought of Edward being in real danger, I push myself to my limits until I'm choking on my own breath. By the time I reach Edward, he's in a similar state.

I find him on his bathroom floor curled up in pain and tremoring violently, and while he's completely drenched through with sweat, he's deathly pale.

"Hey!" My voice all but fails as I throw myself to the floor beside him. I place my palm to his cheek and almost immediately withdraw it; his skin is burning.

"Bel...la," he strangles out, grabbing hold of my shirt with his fist and practically pulling me on top of him, "_I'm_..._I'm_..." He takes a gulping breath and groans, his limbs twitching in a way that suggests he's seizing.

"Edward—Jesus, what is it?" I demand frantically, and a little too loudly. "Tell me!"

"Bella, we better get him out of here and back to Carlisle."

Emmett breaks my focus, and whipping my head around, I stare at him at a complete and utter loss.

He's standing just inside the room, his arms folded tersely across his broad chest and his expression openly afflicted. And without waiting for me to answer, he steps forward and lifts Edward up in his arms.

Edward immediately jolts, and as he cries out in pain, Emmett clamps his palm over his mouth to muffle him. "Let's go," he says, and I'm fairly certain I have never seen my brother look as serious as he does right now in all of my sixty-seven years.

Just like the first time, the moment Emmett lays Edward down on the table in Carlisle's makeshift surgery, Esme attempts to usher me out of the room.

This time I'm having none of it, though. "I'm not going anywhere!" I stubbornly insist, grabbing Edward's hand that he outstretches toward me.

"B-B-Bel-la," he stammers behind the force his body is continuing to shake, "y-you h-have t-t-to ch-change m-me."

Shaking my head, I reach out with my free hand and run my fingers over his clammy brow and into his damp hair. "Carlisle will fix you, Edward. Just...hang on, okay?"

Squeezing his eyes closed, he shakes his head in a disjointed movement. "N-No, B-Bella, I-I'm d-dying."

"You're _not_ dying," I assure him vehemently, leaning in so close to him my lips almost come into contact with his. "I _promise_ you."

"B-Bella, p-please g-g-give m-me y-your bl-blood," he begs me with so much desperation that I very nearly do.

Instead, I shake my head, closing my eyes as tears silently spill beneath my lashes. "You still say my name entirely too much."

"Bella, please wait outside."

It's Carlisle this time; he passes me, rolling his sleeves as he does, his focus solely on Edward. I knew he was leaving the hospital early, but if the time it took him to arrive isn't proof enough that he ran home, the state he's in is. He's wet and mud splattered with insects and various debris from the woods caught in his flaxen blond hair. It only impresses further on me how serious he believes the situation is.

"Can I stay?" I ask meekly, causing him to pause for a moment to study me. I almost cower beneath the uncharacteristic hardness of his expression.

"No. Emmett?" He signals him to remove me.

"Carlisle—"

"It's not up for debate, Bella. _Emmett_!" he cuts me off sharply, and behind his normally stoic gold eyes a fire is brewing.

"C'mon, sis," Emmett says, moving to my side and wrapping a steady arm around me.

"Get your hands off me," I threaten, shoving him from me. "I'm _staying_!" I stand firm.

"Bella..." he appeals to me, his voice softening. "_Please_."

I shake my head, but it's not in answer to him. I'm pretty sure it's to stop myself from succumbing to tears. Before me, Edward continues to violently shake, his long fingers remaining tangled around my shirt, stretching the material so much it exposes my bra underneath.

"B-Bel-l-l-la..." he struggles to articulate my name, "s-stay w-with..."

I cup my palm to his burning cheek and come infinitely close to resting my forehead to his. "I'll be right outside," I assure him, fighting to keep my tone even.

He doesn't let me go, and I'm not sure I have it in me right now to forcibly remove him.

I don't have to. As Carlisle tears his shirt from his back, the force of it pulls him from me, and sensing that I'm about to well and truly lose it, Rose materializes beside me. Placing a consoling arm around my shoulders, she swiftly leads me from the room.

Esme closes the door on the two us, and expelling a jaded breath, I lean myself against it and fold my arms over my chest. "What the hell have I done?" I lament in a murmur to no one in particular.

"You fell in love with a human," Rose says simply.

I look up at her and scoff; if only it were that simple. "You might as well tell me what Alice saw to start all this."

She gauges me closely for a moment, no doubt making sure I won't murder her. "She said you would find your mate and it would fundamentally transform you.

I snort derisively. "Has it?"

"Fundamentally, no, but has he changed you? Without a doubt."

I jerk an irritated shoulder, much like Edward does. "What else?"

"She said he'd be in high school, though he'd be a few years older than you, and we couldn't tell you because you'd kill him."

I snort again, ironically this time. I couldn't kill Edward if I tried. Something I have attempted more than once. "Did you know who he was before I did?"

"No." She shakes her head to further reiterate it. "Alice only said he'd be roughly the same height as Jasper. I suspected he was the one when you realized he was your singer, but when you not only let him live, but brought him back here, I knew you were aware of it, as well."

"What does that mean?" I demand unsure I want the answer. At that point in time, all I wanted was to feed from him. At least, that's what I presumed I wanted.

She raises an emphatic brow. "You need me to spell it out? Humans do not tend to survive a close encounter with Isabella Swan. Especially ones his age. Your little red canary in there"—she tilts her head toward the surgery—"has survived several."

I sigh heavily and hang my head. "Regardless..." I don't finish, I can't. I don't have words for any of this, whether or not I ever did.

"He'll be fine," she feels the need to reassure me.

"Until the next time..." I mutter to myself.

"You need to change him, Bella. It's the only thing that will make all this stop. While he's still human, you'll never be fully comfortable around him."

I jerk another irritable shoulder just as Jasper arrives. He doesn't need to ask me to lower my shield, I've kept it down waiting for him. And to allow Edward to see into my mind; it's all I can really offer him right now.

Without a word, he unleashes his bewitching calm upon me, and closing my eyes, I allow it to fully encase me.

"Thank you," I whisper without raising my eyes from the hardwood floor.

"You still think you haven't changed?" he challenges me, though, his tone is gentle and responsive.

"Of course I have," I admit. Even I'm aware of that.

"Alice wanted me to tell you he's going to be alright," he says after a moment of silence.

"Why doesn't she tell me herself?" I ask, my eyes remaining fixed to my feet.

"She's scared of you," he answers with a tinge of humor behind his voice.

"_Plus_ she feels guilty for keeping everything from you," Rose adds, smirking when I raise my gaze to hers.

"She should," I mumble. I shrug again, surprised by how easily I'm mirroring his quirks. "_God_..."

"Hmm?" Rose speaks up.

I look up, shaking my head to myself as I do, because even now I can barely comprehend it. "He's _infected_ me."

* * *

**A/N: thanks for reading, and a spoiler: the next chapter Bella tells Edward how she died. **


	29. Chapter 28

**A/N: Bella will face a few hard truths this chapter.  
Thanks to my beta, Kim, and pre-reader, Melinda. Hope you like.**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 28.**

Carlisle worked on Edward for more than two hours, and not far into the second, it became torture for me to remain so close. I withdrew to the living room with Rose remaining by my side.

We sit in silence for the most part, while every one of my senses remains tuned to the sounds of the boy my father is attempting to save. Every second of it is agony.

When Carlisle eventually re-emerges and passes by, he does so without looking at me. His jaw is set, his eyes steely and fixed ahead of him, and there's something in his expression that causes me to pause. One thing's obvious, though; whatever it is he's feeling, anger is at its core. "Follow me, Bella, please."

Rising to my feet, I follow dutifully behind him to his first floor study. Esme enters last, closing the door as she does.

For several moments, Carlisle doesn't move to speak. He only stands with his back to me, his head lowered and his hands on his hips, facing the wall of mahogany shelves filled with over four-hundred years' worth of books. "I've stabilized Edward," he eventually informs me. "He just needs to rest for now."

"What...was wrong...?" I let it go; we both know that answer.

"It was as you first presumed. He developed a chemical dependency to your blood." He won't face me, and it's not like him. Carlisle is the kind of man who can stare you dead in the eye and tell you the world is about to end, so for him to be avoiding my gaze like this is making me uneasy.

"Carlisle..." I say with a sigh in emphasis.

This is when he turns, and when his eyes meet mine, they're hard and unforgiving. "Are you serious about this boy at all, Bella?"

"He's not a boy!" I snap on impulse and a little too defensively, and my answer surprises me as much as it does Esme.

Carlisle, however, remains unmoved.

"I'm going to take that as a yes," he says, folding his arms across his chest and staring down at me. "So, it's high time you stop seeing him as your human pet and _start_ treating him as your equal." I immediately open my mouth to protest, when he raises his hand to silence me. "In four-hundred years, I have never not known how to treat a patient, but there is no precedent for this. _None_. And all because you decided to play devil's advocate with a human to satisfy your own perverse desires."

"That's not why—_at all_," I insist affronted, but the tone of my voice falls short of my convictions. I sound as resigned and defeated as I feel, and Carlisle is not nearly finished with me.

"I have seen you play nothing but mind games with him since you met," he begins a new tirade of accusations. "You have spent more energy fighting him and pushing him away than you ever have exploring this connection the two of you share. Even now, you patronize him, mock him, and speak down to him. You treat him as though he were impaired, when in actuality, he is a human with above average intelligence. How he has any regard for you after all of this is a miracle on its own. You have allowed a single moment in your life dictate your entire existence," he berates me without pausing to take a breath, and every word hits me hard in the chest until my head hangs low in shame and culpability.

"Darling, this isn't helping," Esme speaks up softly from behind me.

"Is that all you want to say?" I whisper, as silent tears stream down my face, and despite the fact that they're evident behind my voice, I refuse to look up and allow him to see me so emotionally affected.

"That's all. Go—be with him," he dismisses me coldly.

I turn to leave, when without warning, the door bursts open. Rose is standing behind it and her expression is nothing short of murderous.

"How dare you, Carlisle!" she seethes.

"Rosalie..." he begins, his eternal patience back in place for his first born daughter.

"No!" she cuts him short. "You are going to hear this." He nods his head once in compliance, even as she continues regardless. "Every single one of us is responsible for Bella, but you and Esme most of all." I immediately draw breath to interject, but as though anticipating me, she whips her head toward me. "Just shut up, Bella, and listen."

Sighing, I relent and reluctantly motion for her to continue. I'm not happy about any of it, though.

Her focus immediately zeroes back to Carlisle. "She was so young—do you remember, Carlisle?—when you told Esme how you'd never turn a teenager again after me? Do you remember?"

He releases a heavy breath, his gaze momentarily finding his wife's, before he turns back to Rose and bows his head in admission. "I remember."

"You should have never changed her, but you did anyway! And when she was born into this life filled with anger, you stifled it and forced her into being something she's not. Something she never was, even as a human. I told you she needed to avenge her death, but both of you refused, and she's never been able to reconcile with it. It's the only reason I was able to get past what happened to me, because I got my revenge and I was able to make peace with it. Bella was never given that opportunity, and you wonder why it's still so central to who she is!" Rose is beginning to rant, and even in the face of it, both our parents stand quietly without interrupting; their expressions beginning to reflect the same pain and accountability that continues to afflict me.

"Rose..." I say quietly, all the while knowing it's futile. I have always detested the way my family take my actions upon themselves, especially Esme. I might have been created at seventeen, but I have long since been a teenager. My decisions in this life have all been my own.

In any event, Rose ignores me, and continues her condemnation of our parents. I can barely stand to hear it. "Even now, you tell her what she's doing and how—you never ask her. You insist she patronizes Edward? Well, what do you think you've been doing for sixty-seven years?" Carlisle once more opens his mouth to respond, but again, she doesn't allow him to utter a single word. "I warned you, Carlisle, what would happen if we brought her here and forced her to face whatever the hell it is she shares with Edward completely unprepared. So, what did you think would happen? You put an apex predator filled to the brim with unresolved trauma into the lion's den of everything that triggers her, and you expected her to do—_what_? To join the cheerleading team? And Edward...Every time she's given him her blood it was to heal him, not some _perverse curiosity _as you arrogantly claimed. You knew, Esme knew, we all knew he wasn't sleeping and why. You didn't question it then, but you have the audacity to blame her for it now! And do you really think she's been playing with him?" she changes course without missing a beat, and by the sounds of it, she's not even close to concluding. "Is that what you think she's been doing? Toying with him? She almost attacked Jane last week because of what happened with Tia. You weren't here, Carlisle, you didn't see the way she protected him. She's killed for him, and she would kill anyone of us in an instant right now if we threatened him. She's found her mate, she's accepted it and she's been doing the best she can under the circumstances. And Edward has completely accepted her for who she is. Wasn't _that _why you forced her to come here in the first place?"

Her tirade ends even as her face continues to flash boldly with lingering anger, while her words hang heavily in the air between us.

"Jesus Christ, Rose," I utter, incredulous and more than a little impressed, while I simultaneously flood with affection for her, "but let's face it, I haven't exactly been a model daughter."

"You've been a pain in my ass, but it still needed to be said," she says, returning my smile, and I have to physically stop myself from crushing her to me.

"Bella..." Carlisle says, taking an eventful breath and drawing both our attention. "Rose is right. We've been...unfair to you."

"You should have told me about Edward," I say, because it's a given. "I couldn't kill him when I had no idea about any of this. Do you think I could if you'd given me a head's up?"

"Well...up until that time, you had zero tolerance for teenagers of any kind. We were concerned you would kill him to prove a point," Carlisle answers. He chose his words carefully, but they do nothing to lessen his point.

"I'd cut off my nose to spite my own face." I mumble, scoffing to myself completely without humor. "Yeah, that does sound like something I'd do."

I hang my head again, allowing my frayed emotions to overrun me for the moment when Esme slides her arm around me and nudges me gently to her. "You've grown so much, Bella, and I'm immensely proud of you."

I throw her an awkward smile, but if truth be told, I could completely forgo this happy family moment for the meantime. All I can think of is getting back to Edward and seeing firsthand that he's okay so I can finally breathe.

"What do we tell Edward's parents?" I ask Carlisle, even as I subconsciously shy away from him. Despite Rose's words to the contrary, there was more than enough truth behind his, and they're a burden I deserve to bear.

"Nothing," he says simply. "Alice has assured me that his absence for a couple of days will barely go without notice by them. Additionally, he's not a child; he's more than old enough to decide where he wishes to live."

I gaze at him for a moment, attempting to ascertain his meaning, before shaking my head and deciding I don't want to know. "Where is he?"

"In your room," he answers as a smile forms across his face and just as quickly falls. "Please accept my apology, Bella. My words were stemmed from emotion."

I shake my head a second time, but the decision to argue with him quickly fades. "Only if you'll accept mine."

"Shall we have a group hug," Rose teases dryly, a smirk softening her expression.

"No!" I insist, leaving before I can be forced into one.

**. . .**

He's lying bare-chested, a bag of fluid feeding intravenously into his veins and sleeping peacefully; or so I thought.

The moment I sit myself gingerly beside him on the king-sized bed that now adorns my room, he immediately stirs.

"Hey," he says softly. His voice is rustic, his eyes hopelessly bloodshot, and despite the fact that he's just come off three days of sleep, he looks exhausted. "I've been waiting for you."

"Have you?" I ask gently, pushing his hair off his forehead. His cheeks are flushed, but his body temperature feels normal. He's as warm as he ever was. "How do you feel?"

"Pretty shitty," he answers candidly even as a drunken smile tugs on his lips, "but I'll live."

I shake my head slowly to myself. The guilt is suffocating and more than a little confusing. It feels so natural and yet completely alien to me at the same time. "Edward, I'm..._so sorry..." _My voice comes infinitely close to breaking, and I'm forced to glance away to pull myself together.

"Hey...I'm fine," he assures me, reaching out to grab my hand to stop me from dragging it over my scalp. "Bella..."

"Hmm?" I don't meet his eyes; I can't. All I can see in them is every single word Carlisle charged me with.

"I don't like seeing you like this," he admits seriously.

"I don't like seeing _you_ like this," I respond in kind.

He exhales a heavy breath before pulling himself clumsily from the pillow and laying his cheek in my lap. His arm follows, wrapping around me despite the cannula still connected to the bag of saline in the back of his hand.

I tangle my fingers through his wayward hair. It's almost as soft as mine and there's so much of it. It smells incredible, too. He's recently washed it, and even in the moonlight the color of it amazes me. It's unique, much like he is.

"Bella...?" he speaks up after several minutes of silence.

"Hmm?"

"Your shield is down." He sounds almost reluctant to admit it.

"I know...Tell me what you see." I brave his response, but I don't fear it nearly as much as I do losing this confounding human.

"...Me..." he answers after a moment. "Jesus, is that what I really look like?"

I laugh warmly, trailing my index finger down his forehead and over his cheekbone. "Yep."

"So...does this count as another attempt to kill me?" he says lightly after another pause, tightening his arm around me.

I nudge him gently even as the grin pulls wide on my face. "Go to sleep."

"I've slept enough." He pouts.

"Until the morning, at least."

He groans lazily. "So, you're finally going to be nice to me from now on?" he continues to tease me, and it completely and utterly baffles me that after everything I've subjected him to, not only can he still bear the sight of me, but he can make light of it.

"I'll think about it," I play along even as I huff softly to myself in wonder. I'm not sure I'll ever work out this boy, but then, my own heart and mind are becoming as equally foreign to me.

He releases a humming breath, the smile not waning from his lips, as silence falls over us.

"Hey..." he breaks it just when I convinced myself he'd fallen asleep.

"Hey."

"I'm sorry about my mother this afternoon..." He sighs, and it's obvious it's bothering him a lot more than it really should.

"If your mother liked me, I'd question her sanity." I run my fingers back over his brow, attempting to lull him to sleep. This human of mine talks entirely too much.

"She hasn't even met you," he says, his voice darkening.

"You do realize that's a good thing, right? I might eat her for dinner."

He half laughs; it's droll and he's not wholly joking. "Maybe you should. Or maybe...I will..."

"Stop that!" I immediately caution him.

He jerks his trademark shoulder and sulks, but it simply wouldn't be Edward if he didn't.

"Are you really on the cusp of turning twenty?" I bring it to his attention, because the boy really is prone to tantrums.

He squeezes me and for another period he's still. Until he isn't.

"Hey?" he speaks up again, as though suddenly recalling something.

"Hmm?"

"If I'm going to be with a teenager for eternity, don't you think I should be one as well?"

"Not really," I say frankly.

He groans, but doesn't reply. Instead, he snakes his other arm around my waist, essentially sandwiching me, and expels a long-winded breath. He's tired, but he's stubbornly fighting it.

"Edward?" I ask after a moment where the both of us had fallen into another spell of comfortable silence.

"Hmm...?" he murmurs behind closed eyes.

"Do you want to move in with us?"

This gets his attention, and turning his head he gazes up at me. "Now?"

"Whenever you want."

He continues to gauge me as an easy grin tugs on his lips. "Sure, but first..." His expression quickly reverses and he severs my gaze.

"What do you want to know?" I ask cocking a knowing brow. It's always one thing or another with him.

"Tell me what happened to you. I mean, how you..." He clears his throat this time and opens his mouth no doubt to apologize.

I shake my head to cut him off. "Do you really want to know?"

"Yeah." He nods, but it's obvious he's tiptoeing around me.

"Okay..." I take a momentous breath and rub my forehead stiffly, but I've known for a while this was inevitable. It's as indelible as he is. "It was..."

"Hang on," Edward interrupts, before he clumsily pulls himself upright so he's sitting beside me.

"What are you doing? Lie back down!" I order him, but he only smirks.

"I'm fine," he insists wrapping an arm around my shoulders, and this is despite the fact that he's still pale and his naked flesh is lightly tremoring against me.

"You'll be the death of me," I complain, shaking my head to myself again. I seem to be doing that a lot lately.

"Okay, I'm ready."

I sigh deeply, and then again, as I search for the right words to begin. I should be prepared for this, but I'm not. "Alright... It was at a graduation party at the end of May, 1952."

He nods, his eyes closely canvassing mine. "You okay?"

"Fine," I assert bluntly. "There was this boy who lived on my street. Randall..." My voice automatically tightens around his name. "He was in my grade, but none of my classes—your typical sub-intelligent jock."

"Hmm..." Edward mumbles, sucking in his cheeks.

I clear my throat awkwardly and continue. "I hadn't planned on going to any parties. It really wasn't something...I was interested in, but that Saturday morning he knocked on my door and gave me this—obviously rehearsed—spiel. He just broke up with his girlfriend and wanted to party without any romantic hassles, and being his neighbor, he felt he could feel comfortable with me."

"Jesus..." Edward mutters darkly. He's obviously already caught on to his motives; something at seventeen, I'd failed to do.

"I agreed, because as a human I was..._naive_." For want of a better word.

"_Trusting_," Edward counters.

"Regardless." I mirror his typical mannerism and jerk a shoulder. "He picked me up that night, and drove me to one of his football buddy's houses in the hills—"

"Where did you live?" Edward breaks in to question.

"L.A. Anyway, once there, he left me alone, and oddly enough I found a couple of girls I knew. Girls from my..._social standing_." I turn to face him, arching a pointed eyebrow.

He nods in full understanding. "Yeah..."

"A couple of hours later, he came and found me. That's when he tried to ply me with alcohol. I refused. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I guess you could say my intuition was starting to kick in, and all those girls I knew were wasted and disappearing one by one."

"Fuck." Yeah, he knows exactly where this story is headed.

"It was around ten, I think, and I was well and truly over it. I went out in search of him to demand he take me home, and that's when I walked in on—a girl from my class was being raped while she was unconscious."

He sighs again, audibly this time and accompanied by half a groan. "That's why you..."

"Killed your cousin?" I finish for him, as he flashes me a culpable smile.

"It could have been me."

"It wasn't you. Do you want me to continue?" I ask, my voice notably tense despite all efforts to keep myself detached.

"Will you be okay if you do?" he asks skeptically, and it's not as though I can blame him.

"Will I attack you, you mean?" I ask the question he really wanted to put to me.

"No. I mean..." he lets it go and breaks my gaze, self-conscious.

"I'm fine, Edward," I say a little too casually. I'm not exactly fine if truth be told, but it doesn't mean Edward's in danger around me, nor will he ever be again.

"Okay. Keep going," he decides after a moment where he only scrutinized me, obviously trying to find contradiction in my eyes.

"Alright, well...at first, I was upset and shaken. I ran out back and into a large gathering. There was a girl in the center. I knew her... She was so drunk she was barely coherent, and they were getting her to—anyway," I cut myself abruptly short, "that's when I got angry. I told them all I was going to call my father and have them charged, and that's when the atmosphere changed. Several of them chased me to the front yard, and when they caught me...I wasn't sure what was happening. They were all on top of me, and Randall was...front and center. He was shoving a bottle of vodka down my throat until I was choking." My voice hitches in the back of my throat, and pausing, I take a moment to pull myself back together. I detest being put in such a vulnerable light.

"Bella..." Edward whispers, his voice taking on an edge of disbelief and anger as he tightens his arms around me.

I immediately shake my head. "Just let me finish."

"'Kay," he murmurs.

I glance up into his eyes, and while they're a little too bright from the ordeal he went through tonight, they're just as equally stricken.

He nods silently encouraging me to continue, as his fingers idly graze down my cheek.

It causes me to hesitate for a moment before I break his gaze and clear my throat once more for added measure. It's purely for pretenses, though. I was never going to be able to retell this story without it impacting me to such an extent. "A group of boys held me down while the rest of them started throwing alcohol and food at me, and saying all kinds of...things. Randall...he was straddled over me, tearing off my dress..."

"Fucking prick," Edward mutters more or less to himself, but I don't react to him.

"I didn't stop fighting. My dad, Jacob...they taught me how to defend myself. I managed to knee him in the groin, and somehow pull myself to my feet. I got about...ten feet, maybe, when they caught me again. The next thing I knew, I was in the trunk of a car half naked. They took me to the Santa Monica Mountains, n-near the Hollywood sign," I stammer, glancing up at him; he nods in recognition even as he continues to frown. "_He_ was there with three other guys and two girls. They forced me to drink—I don't know how much. It was a lot. Maybe half a bottle, but if I didn't swallow, I would have drowned. I was angry though. I refused to go down without a fight, and I mocked him. I told him he was a low-grade football player and that's why he didn't get a scholarship, that he was dumber than mud, and he would peak in high school—something along those lines anyway," I say almost ruefully as an utterance that echoes me bursts from Edward in return.

"Yeah, that does sound like you," he says with more than an edge of affection.

I hum softly in agreement before I continue. "My brother knew a lot about him, and I paid attention to what he and his friends often talked about. I repeated all of it until one of the girls laughed at him. It made him snap—he had such a fragile ego. He put his hands around my throat... I couldn't breathe, but I didn't stop fighting. I clawed at his face and tried to gouge his eyes like my father had shown me. While he was choking me, he told me I was an '_unfuckable prude'_"—I quote with my fingers—"and then confessed how it was all a joke between him and his buddies to get '_easy meat'_. Though, he claimed he had to be drunk before he could lay a finger on me. He released me, thinking he had the upper hand, but despite almost asphyxiating, I very calmly told him I'd have to be as..._mentally deficient"—_I use a toned-down version of what I actually said_—"_as he was to allow him to touch me."

"'Course you did." Edward smirks and comes close to breaking into a full grin. I almost join him before I catch myself; this is despite the fact that he looks very close to tears.

"That same girl laughed again, but then, she was laughing at me as well, so it's safe to say she wasn't exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. It only incensed Randall more. So...after breaking the bottle over my head, he pushed me over the edge of the hill." It's the climax of my story, and in response to it, Edward's mouth drops open. It's not something I can focus on, so I don't. "I don't know if you've ever been there, but it's way too steep to stop yourself if you fall."

"I can imagine," he mumbles.

"I felt each blow; it was like a flash of white light behind my eyes, but I was running purely on adrenaline by that point. I didn't really feel pain. By the time I came to a stop, I was barely alive. I remember looking down at one of my legs. It was bent completely backwards and I couldn't move. I assume I was paralyzed. I laid there until morning, falling in and out of consciousness and scarcely able to breathe. I knew I was dying, and I was so angry. _So_ angry..." I scoff to myself, because _angry_ is barely scratching the surface. "All I could think about was my father finding my half naked, probably decomposing body and... Anyway," I force those thought—that still plague me—from my mind, "the last thing I remember is Carlisle's face as he came into my line of sight. Like Rose, he caught the scent of my blood, and...well...that's it." I look up at him in conclusion; his brow is heavily knotted and an expression I'm not familiar with is reflecting behind his intense gaze. More than anything, though, he appears disturbed.

"Fucking hell, Bella," he all but whispers as he hangs his head back against the headboard and rubs his eyes roughly with his long fingers.

"So, now you know," I say in a small voice, shrugging a helpless shoulder.

"It explains..._everything_," he admits in a strange kind of wonder. And guilt. "Now I know why you...couldn't stand me."

"I had _misconceptions_ about you," I correct him. Misconceptions I can still barely comprehend.

"So, you never killed them," he states. He already knows the answer, after all.

"No," I reply regrettably, and I do regret it. How I would have loved to. I often contemplate tracking him down, but killing a frail old man—if he's even still alive—doesn't quite have the same impact. "When Carlisle realized how angry I was after I was born, he up and moved the family to the other side of the country. I was kept under pretty close watch."

"Did you feed from animals in the beginning?" he changes course.

I nod once. "I did, and it never satisfied me. I was five-years-old when I first drank human blood. After that, I swore I'd never drink from an animal again."

"When...when did you start killing...guys like me?" he asks, practically recoiling from his own words.

"When I was five. It was a..._bloodbath_, but it felt...good..." I huff beneath my breath at the memory, but don't elaborate. Edward will realize this himself one day if he decides to follow my lifestyle. I'm not sure I can conceive of it, though. "That was the day I realized exactly how strong I am."

He snorts; it's wry and instilled with amusement. "Oh, you're strong, all right. Remember the day you caught me in my car with Lauren?" I nod as an almost sheepish grin forms across his face. "I felt like I was being dragged by a freight train."

I break into an impulsive smile along with him, and expelling a completely wearied breath, I grab his hand. I don't say anything more; I've said all I wanted to say.

"Bella," he speaks up seriously this time, and I look back up into his culpable eyes, surprised that I'm not the least bit maladjusted by him knowing my story, "if Bree hadn't...I mean, had I never got involved with what happened to her, I probably would have been like...you first thought."

I nod slowly, chewing on my bottom lip as I consider it further. "Maybe..." I agree. "The irony, Edward? What happened with Bree probably saved your life."

* * *

**A/N: thanks for reading. **


	30. Chapter 29

**A/N: just dropping this off before I run back to play Ghost of Tsushima. I'm bloody addicted. As much as FFVII is my one true love, this game is definitely game of the year material.**  
**I'll shut up, now. Thanks Kim and Melinda. Hope you enjoy. **

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 29**

While my parents were not exactly in full agreement with the idea of Edward living with us before graduation, they still agreed to it. I had my suspicions the two of them were planning to drag it out, and the fact that they persuaded Edward to return to his parents' house after he recovered, only confirmed it. It didn't really matter to me, considering I spent my nights together with him in his room, but before I could confront them over it, it was vetoed by Aro.

The Volturi has spoken; Edward has seven days to become a part of our coven.

Jane was undoubtedly behind it, but for once, I wasn't bothered at all by her underhandedness.

Aro contacted Carlisle directly to inform him, and tonight he called a family meeting. We assemble in the dining room, as per usual family meetings when discussing me.

"I'll get my stuff in the morning," Edward pipes up, huge grin in tow, more than eager.

"Hold on, Edward," Carlisle raises his palm in an effort to curb his enthusiasm. "We need to come up with a convincing reason behind it."

"Why?" I demand, sounding like a petulant teenager. "He's almost twenty years old!"

"_And _in his senior year. Not to mention, he has not known you long enough to explain such a sudden move," Carlisle inserts reason. "His parents will expect answers and we don't want to draw any unnecessary attention."

"So," I wave my hand dismissively, "I'll just kill them."

"Bella!" Esme bursts, openly appalled, while beside me, Edward snorts back his laughter.

"She's teasing, my love," Carlisle states the obvious with a small sigh.

"Of course I am," I'm forced to reassure her, rolling my eyes. My mother is the eternal over-reactor, after all. "What do you suggest?" I turn my attention back to Carlisle.

"That..." he begins when he deliberately pauses, even as he holds my gaze steadily. "Bella, promise me you'll stay calm."

"You've just guaranteed I won't," I reply, eyeing him skeptically. "What is it?"

"I think the sensible thing to do is announce...your pregnancy." His expression turns pained and he all but shies away from me.

For a single moment, I'm without words, and just as a collection of muffled snickers erupts around me, I practically lunge from my chair.

"No, no, _NO_!" I firmly put my foot down.

"You'll only need to keep up the charade until graduation," Carlisle attempts to placate me, but the very idea of it is making my skin crawl.

"I am not pretending to be..._that_!" I openly shudder at the prospect.

"But you _are _pretending to be human," he points out.

"It won't be that bad, will it?" Edward asks confused and, maybe, a little wounded.

This boy and his pride.

"Did you forget when I told you we have no biological inclination to procreate? I have no clock ticking inside me making me want to gestate a human. The most maternal thing about me is the fact that I refuse to feed from children," I rant, less than impressed that I have to remind him.

"Bella..." Carlisle begins with another sigh, before evidently deciding to abandon it.

"More to the point," I continue on without a pause, "his parents already think we're _fostered white trash_, and if word gets out that I'm _knocked up_ at seventeen it will only confirm it!"

Emmett snickers again before he's immediately silenced by Rose.

"She'll kill you," she warns him in a whisper, and she's not wrong.

"Bella," Esme picks up where her husband left off, "you're making it into something it's not. Do you want Edward to join our family, or not?"

"Emotional manipulation, _Mother_, and in case you've forgotten, I asked him to move in with us well before I knew I'd have to compromise my self-respect."

"In any case," Carlisle concludes, and there's a finality about his tone, "we need a convincing reason to explain Edward's desire to move in with us, and it's the only plausible explanation."

But I'm not sold by any stretch of the imagination.

"It's completely archaic. Since you've clearly forgotten, this is the twenty-first century, not 1955. If I were stupid enough to get myself pregnant as a teenager, I'd have an abortion, _not shack up with my baby daddy_!" I quote with my fingers, using modern day vernacular to drive my point home.

"Bella, you're not _actually_ pregnant," Alice feels the need to chime in as if I weren't already away of it.

"Hypothetically,_ obviously_." I roll my eyes.

"What if you decided to keep it?" Edward puts to me, and I immediately snort.

"I wouldn't."

"You're speaking from the context of a vampire, Bella, not a human girl who's in love with her boyfriend," Esme reminds me, turning to throw Edward a responsive smile.

He returns it, and then blushes. He _actually_ blushes.

"Not going to happen," I assert, unwavering. Being knocked up at such a young age in a town like Forks would be unbearable as a human; as an immortal, the attention it would award me would be insufferable.

"If you _were _human and I got you pregnant, I'd want to be involved," Edward explains simply with half a shrug. "It makes sense that I'd move in here with you."

I sigh heavily and drop my brow to my splayed palm. For the most part, it's to sever his gaze; he knows exactly how to entrap me with it. "Why the hell do I even have to return to school?" I question, turning back to Carlisle. "You sent me there to find my mate, and _here he is_." I gesture to Edward in emphasis.

"While we're residing in this town, it's imperative that we maintain a normal front," Carlisle explains, his voice tightening; proof that his patience is beginning to wear thin. "You're at the top of your class—it makes absolutely no sense to drop out with only four months left of the semester."

"Well, since I'm already a hillbilly, as well as knocked up, I might as well complete the trifecta and become a high school dropout," I say sarcastically, folding my arms across the table and pouting, much like Edward often does. Like I often _did_.

"Bella, stop being ridiculous." Esme's lips thin, and despite the revelation we had only a couple of weeks prior, she's shifted straight back into the warden.

"You can get married," Alice pipes up brightly as though it's some kind of fringe benefit. Though, what really excites her is the prospect of playing dress-up.

"A shotgun wedding," I say drolly. "How _highbrow_. Let's go to Vegas, _baby_," I turn to Edward and play along.

He grins broadly and in open amusement. "I'm in." And below the table, he curves his very large palm around my upper thigh.

"You're a Neanderthal." My voice comes infinitely close to catching, making that smirk of his grow in width and volume.

This damned human is too handsome to reconcile with.

"So, it's settled," Carlisle states, preemptively raising his hand to silence any more objections on my part. "Edward, Esme and I will invite your parents for tea tomorrow and discuss it with them. It's best we handle it as quickly as possible."

He nods, but his inward groan in unmistakable. I'm sure he's imagining his mother's reaction as much as I am. "Sure—what is that...?" His eyes glaze over as I immediately throw up my shield. Since the last disastrous event surrounding Edward, I've kept it down, but it leaves him just as exposed to my brother's anal retentiveness as it does me.

"Take a pill, Eros!" I snap at Jasper, before back to Carlisle. "We done?" I demand, continuing to simmer with resentment.

"Yes, and Bella?" he speaks up just as I pull myself from my chair to leave.

"What?" I bark over my shoulder. I may have to fake a pregnancy, and in all honesty, I more than likely deserve to, but that doesn't mean I have to like it.

"You will need to keep yourself in full control tomorrow, remember that," he cautions me, but the man is nothing if not grounded in reality where I'm concerned.

"Have no fear. My diet doesn't include uppity, middle-aged elitists," I'm forced to put his fears to rest, while my mother again decides to reprimand me.

"Bella—they are still Edward's parents!"

"She's not wrong, Mrs. Cullen," Edward immediately backs me up, but his smile is turning my mother into a puddle of water.

She's overjoyed at the prospect of gaining another son and she panders to his every need, day and night.

**. . .**

"Wanna go for a drive?" Edward puts to me after we all collectively vacate the dining room.

I turn to him and quirk a brow. Going for a drive has become code for feeling me up. Though, it's not something I'm exactly averse to anymore, nor am I likely to break any of his bones. Still, this human likes to constantly push the boundaries.

"You have no shame." My objection is completely feigned; something he's well aware of.

"Might as well pretend we're making a baby," he leans toward me and adds in a murmur against my hair.

I immediately elbow him away from me, making him jolt even as he chuckles in response. "Pushing your luck, bucko."

"_Bucko_..." He complains loudly, hooking his elbow around my neck regardless. "You gonna be alright tomorrow?" He switches gears as his voice drops with immediate concern.

"I'll grin and bear it," I say wryly, and after the hell I've put him through, I deserve a lot more than being forced to fake a teenage pregnancy. "Come on, then." I hold my hand out to him and he takes it readily.

"It's been two weeks," he shrewdly reminds me after I toss him my car keys.

"I haven't forgotten," I answer, my casual front completely fabricated, and turning toward the front passenger-side, I suppress the exasperation I'm really feeling.

After almost killing him again, albeit unwittingly, I plummeted into the deepest depths of guilt and self-loathing, and Edward, seeing his window of opportunity, took complete advantage. I essentially promised him we'd become more physical; though, I set a timer on anything too strenuous. Two weeks, and only _after_ Carlisle gave him the all-clear.

Both have taken place, and _too strenuous_ has since become _sex_.

I sigh only half beneath my breath; this is why murder confessions made under duress are inadmissible in court.

"So...?" he puts to me, his voice steeped with hope, before rushing forward to open the door for me. Despite the fact that he's a walking sack of hormones and impulses, the boy really is a sweetheart beneath it all.

"So?" I echo, tilting my head and deliberately playing coy. I can't prevent the grin that forms across my face though, and in response, he sulks.

"Bella..."

I grin to myself and slide fluidly, and little too rapidly, into the front seat of my car. "Get in."

Pulling himself behind the wheel like the pouty teenager he is, he inserts the key and the familiar guttural purr of the engine roars to life. "Where to?" He turns to gauge me.

"Just drive. We'll decide on the way."

"I'm fine," he continues to push not twenty miles south of Forks, "and you promised."

"I promised we'd _try_," I correct him. I shouldn't have to, but alas...

"Jesus, Bella..." he expels his breath and drags a set of rigid fingers through his mess of hair. The boy doesn't get a lot of sex—anymore—but his hair definitely eludes to the contrary.

"Aside from the fact that if you even get me minimally to that point, I would more than likely kill you, you are still weaning from my blood!" I really need to take all those premature promises of mine back, despite knowing he'll undoubtedly go to war with me to prevent it.

"Do I look like I'm dying?" he says dryly, and he has a point there. He's the perfect specimen of health and testosterone, but Carlisle still has him tapering, and until he's completely rid of my blood from his system, any side-affects are still unknown. "Is this because of...what happened last week?"

"I warned you not to get it in my mouth!" I blurt, and just the mention of it makes me want to gag. Contrary to popular opinion, vampires can vomit. Something I did spontaneously after he expelled his manhood down the back of my throat.

"I couldn't help it," he appeals. "I didn't expect you to be so good at it. That was really gross, by the way." He turns to glace at me with a smirk.

I roll my eyes, shaking my head lightly to myself. "If I was an actual human female, it'd happen every month. Just not out of my mouth." I wink, and I'm not sure whether he's going to laugh or dry heave.

"Okay, I didn't need to..." He bows his forehead momentarily into his hand, before he flexes it back around the steering wheel. "Bella..."

"Hmm?" I question, despite the fact he spoke my name as a statement.

"You ever going to allow me on top?" he asks even as his tone immediately softens and turns tentative.

I'm not too concerned by it, though. Edward keeps waiting for me to freak out over him knowing my past, but I'm just as at ease over it as I was the night I told him. "That's a strange thing to ask, considering you haven't been _on the_ _bottom_."

"I'm just—I'm gonna have a stroke by the amount of times I'm whacking off," he protests, releasing a hand to push his hair back off his forehead in an obvious fit of impatience.

"Why do you always feel the need to tell me everything that runs through your mind?" I ask, fighting the urge to laugh. I find his sexual frustration amusing, and he's none too impressed by it.

"It's not as though you're _not_ the one whacking me off," he mutters sarcastically.

"Poor, baby. Shall I sing you a lullaby?" I tease him, and rolling his head against the rest to face me, he throws me a completely mocked scowl. "I tried my mouth and you immediately burned that ship down. Hush little baby, don't say a word..."

"I wasn't expecting it to be so fucking _good_!" he bursts, thudding his palm back against the steering wheel. "Jesus."

"Oh, he of little faith." Reaching out, I curve my palm around his chin. "You really are adorable, you know that?"

"Thanks," he mutters, coming infinitely close to rolling his eyes. He knows I don't take too kindly to it, but he also knows I'm not likely to lay a finger on him in retribution if he does.

"You don't like compliments?" I tease.

"Not when I know you're referring to me as a puppy."

I chuckle lightly to myself but don't reply.

He _tsks_, but the smile hinting on his lips suggests he's not nearly as upset with me as he wants me to believe. "So..._what_? You were just humoring me?"

I sigh loudly this time, because human or not, he can be completely exasperating. "No, but truth be told, if I get you between my thighs, pretty boy, I'll more than likely crush your pelvis."

"Just feed me your blood." He glances at me and turns on the full force of that smile of his.

"And risk the wrath of Daddy Dearest? You've lost your faculties."

He comes close to laughing, instead he internalizes it and shakes his head. "Bella, it's the twenty-first century, no one says 'you've lost your faculties' anymore."

"Oh? What do they say?—non compos mentis?"

"I—_what_?" he turns to me puzzled.

"_Well_?" I prompt him. Above average intelligence, or not, his brain often plays second fiddle to that none-too-small organ in his pants.

"I don't even know what the hell we're talking about anymore," he mumbles, beginning to sound disoriented.

"What do they say instead of '_out of one's faculties'_?" I jog his memory in deliberate monotone.

"Hmm..." he considers it for a moment, before coming to his answer, "fucked in the head." He flashes me a wicked grin.

In response, I almost choke on my own saliva. Though, I have no idea why I'm even surprised. "You are so eloquent, Edward."

"She's eighty-seven-years-old, but she talks like she's _one-hundred_-and-eighty-seven. She gives mind-blowing head, then pukes when I come, and she could kill me just by her glare," he says, before laughing to himself in some kind of irony.

"He's twenty-years-old, but acts like he's five. Why, why, why, when-this, how-that, and _you promised_!" I respond in kind, snorting when he turns to me and scowls again.

"When I'm a vampire, I'm really going to rough you up," he threatens, needing to force his emerging grin back.

"Like to see you try," I challenge him. Though, in all honesty, it would be fun.

He maintains that completely too charming smile until I'm forced to remind him of his lack of attention. "You're going to kill yourself."

He flashes me an odd look, but turns his focus inevitably back to the road. "So, how many supermodels are vampires?" he asks after a mile or two of silence. I enjoyed watching him sucking on his cheeks with that bizarrely appealing expression furrowed into his brow.

"None."

"Seriously?" He's surprised. And gullible.

I bring it to his attention and he only flashes me that look of confusion again. I sigh. "They're waifs who are caked with makeup and airbrushed in every advertisement. Besides, we're not allowed to draw too much attention to ourselves, so the days of your Snapchat, bucko, are numbered."

"What are you on about? I'm not on Snapchat?" he outright lies.

I quirk a dubious brow. "You're forgetting that Emmett can hack into anything, anywhere?"

"You spying on me?" he puts to me, but he's not angry. He can barely go a second without grinning to himself. One would think he's _not_ about to go through mind-altering pain just to live as a bloodthirsty predator for all eternity.

"What can I say? I'm a curious creature," I say casually, propping my elbow against the base of the window and leaning my forehead on my closed fist.

"You don't trust me." It's not a question.

"Of course I do." I snort at his assumptions. "I don't need to stalk you to tell when you're lying."

"So, what? You have a built-in truth detector, or something?" His amusement is back in full force, but it's entirely too infectious.

"Something to that effect."

His smile turns broad and this time it warms his entire face. "It's kinda nice—and weird—that you're not a bitch to me anymore."

"Yeah, well, the bitch card expired when I saw you strung out on my blood," I admit a little too earnestly.

"Oh, so, seeing me strung out was what did it," he teases me. "Not almost bleeding me dry, or breaking my neck?" His eyebrows raise in emphasis.

"You deserved it those times," I state matter-of-factly.

"How so?" his voice turns high with feigned offense, and surely he knows he's completely unconvincing.

"One, you practically demanded I kill you—"

"Yeah, well, since you were threatening to, I figured I should just get it out of the way—"

"And _two_," I cut him off, "you pulled out that hideous print-out of me and thrusted it an inch from my face."

He chuckles lightly in response. "You were pretty cute in a dorky, reads-too-much, metal-mouth kinda way."

"It's not too late to kill you, you realize," I inform him, which only increases the length of his amusement.

"Was this what you were like as a human?" he asks appearing almost sincere.

"Our appearance changes when we become a vampire, not our personality," I answer simply.

"I think I would have really liked you." He winks at me, and I immediately scoff at how brazen he is.

"We both know that's not true," I say cynically. He laughs again, softer this time, and becoming immediately caught up in it, I turn my attention back to the stretch of road before us. "You're a real charmer," I murmur.

**. . .**

"Here okay?" Edward puts to me.

I turn from him and glance through the rain-spattered windows for the first time in several hours. I have no idea where he's taken us. He's stopped the car on the side of an isolated, lonely road at the base of the surrounding Olympic Mountains. If I had to guess, we were somewhere in the Bogachiel State Park.

"Where no one will hear me scream," I say ironically, arching a brow just as he laughs.

"Where no one will hear _me_ scream," he corrects me, leaning toward me.

Planting my palm to his chest, I momentarily hold him at a distance. "Nothing goes in my mouth, understand?"

"That's fine," he mumbles, pressing his heated lips to the side of my neck, "but can I put something in you?"

Grabbing a fistful of his hair, I immediately yank him back.

"Ow—"

"What kind of cheesy bullshit was that?" I demand, uncertain whether to roll my eyes or outright laugh.

He almost appears sheepish, that is until he breaks into a broad smile. "Ice-breaker?"

"Pun intended?" I ask drolly.

"Huh?" his forehead knots with obvious confusion.

I groan openly. "Tell me what you plan on doing, so I can remind myself not to break your neck."

"You haven't come close in a while," he contradicts me, his grin turning sly.

I _do_ roll my eyes this time, and come infinitely close to dropping my forehead into my palm; something I was never prone to prior to meeting him. "Do you enjoy driving me insane?"

"Pretty much, yeah." He shrugs a casual shoulder, forcing his emerging chuckle beneath his breath. "So...?" he adds with deliberate innuendo.

"So...?" I echo.

"You need to get warm?"

"Why would I?" I ask suspiciously, but it wouldn't surprise me in the least if Edward's motives were to have sex in the front seat of the car. I do bring provisions in the event that my body does need warmth; donated blood from Carlisle's stash that I keep in a heated storage container in the back seat. My father has forbidden me from drinking Edward's blood while he's tapering.

"Because you're cold," he states the obvious.

"You've just realized that?"

"Ha-ha..." he utters dryly.

"Would you just tell me what you want to do?" I repeat the question, my tone edging with exasperation.

"Just...make out, and maybe...get you used to my weight over you?" His voice softens with obvious apprehension.

I huff this time, making him practically cringe away from me. "Fine," I relent, because I always do when it comes to him nowadays; something he's intimately aware of.

I move to the back seat so swiftly he does a double take. He follows, exiting the car completely before climbing in beside me.

"You know how all so very _fifties_ this is?" I say cynically, fighting the urge to smirk.

"Yeah?" he breaks into that sunny grin of his, and it suddenly occurs to me exactly how much he smiles. I'm sure it's got to be some kind of fault in his personality. _Another_ in Edward's case.

"_Park_ is what all teenagers did. Some girls mysteriously disappeared for nine months after, but it never seemed to stop them."

"Did you?" he asks, and again his intent appears so genuine I'm forced to pause to gauge his sincerity.

I scoff at his assumptions when I realize he's stumped me again. "_Of course_ I didn't."

"Until now..." He quirks a small wicked brow, and cupping his palm to cover my cheek and jaw, he encloses me in his warmth and presses his lips to mine.

It takes five attempts before I can tolerate the weight of his body over mine. It's completely ridiculous considering my strength, but for a human he's almost oppressively heavy and so much taller compared to me that I act purely on impulse. I shove him off me, not enough to do any real damage, but enough that it breaks the momentum between us several times.

"How in god's name can you...have an erection already?" I ask in a blatant attempt to disguise my awkwardness, after I somehow managed to last several minutes with his body pressing against me. With every _part_ of him pressing against me.

Naturally, he only laughs.

"Why is that funny?"

"You're the only girl I've ever heard say 'have an erection'."

"Girl?" I immediately quirk a dubious brow.

"Girl...granny..." He laughs again; at least he would, if he didn't make an effort to conceal it. "And you claim _I say_ weird shit."

"What does that mean?" I demand, skeptically. I don't say _weird shit_, after all.

"I'm _supposed_ to have an _erection_." He sounds almost exasperated; something I'm sure has never occurred before over the course of my life.

"Are you mocking me?" I challenge, before deciding to let it go. "What I _meant_ was, considering how many times I've shoved you off me, you shouldn't _have_ an erection."

He shrugs indifferently. "Just looking at you gives me an erection."

"Good god..." I mutter, easing him back and pulling myself upright on the back seat.

"We done?" he asks, sitting beside me and draping his arm lazily around my shoulders.

"Are you?"

He shrugs again; one-shouldered, of course. "Not really."

I sigh pointedly, until I'm beginning to feel wearied. "Edward...I have never attempted to have sex with a human for..._pleasure_ before. I'll hurt you."

"So, you _were_ humoring me," he states, expelling his breath and dropping his head to drag his fingers over it and through his hair. He doesn't sound as disappointed as he does resigned, though.

"I would have promised you anything after what I did to you," I admit ashamedly, my voice small. It's odd to my ears, and Edward immediately reacts to it.

For the longest moment he only stares at me, and when he speaks, it's more to himself than it is to me. "I really don't like seeing you like this."

"I don't like disappointing you," I murmur, dropping my head. It's a statement I never expected to ever say to a human, but here I am, together with him in completely unchartered waters.

"Bella?" he speaks up in little more than a whisper.

"Hmm?" I turn to meet his gaze.

Again those too clear eyes of his closely canvass my face. He opens his mouth, only to appear to second-guess himself and close it again. "I..." he eventually utters, only to abandon it.

"What is it?" I tilt my head with curiosity. He's serious; something he's not often prone to, all things considered.

"Why didn't you change me?" he asks, completely blind-siding me, but it's not the first time he's put this question to me. He first asked not long after I told him about my human death, and I quickly persuaded him off the topic. The truth is, Carlisle very nearly did, and he would have had Alice not immediately intervened.

She had a vision of Edward as a red-eyed demon, having lost every shred of his humanity, and unable to be tamed. And consequently being put to death by the Volturi.

"You're addicted to my blood, Edward. If I change you in this state, your lust for blood will..." Releasing a heavy breath, I pause to collect my bearings. "It will overrule everything, even how you feel about me."

* * *

**A/N: thanks for reading. :)**


	31. Chapter 30

**A/N: "Let's Marvin Gaye and get it on..."  
Thanks to Kim and Melinda. Hope you enjoy :)**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 30**

The instant the word _pregnant_ leaves my father's mouth, Mrs. Masen turns to blatantly glare at me. While it's clear this woman is incensed by the fact that I've tainted her precious son, she's just as equally appalled. But over Edward knocking up _fostered white trash_, or her _acquaintances_ finding out about it, I'm not altogether sure.

A smirk ghosts across my face in response, subtly letting her know that, yes, I entrapped her son; yes, he's now mine forever; and yes, there is nothing whatsoever she can do about it. Though, the alternative was tearing her head off.

Esme notices, of course, and her warnings aren't nearly as discreet. She prods her elbow into my side and speaks my name so rapidly it escapes the attention of the three humans in the room.

Mr. Masen is understandably disappointed, but the man liked me on sight. That much was obvious. He's easily swayed by a pretty face; something that's evident by his choice of wife.

Elizabeth Masen, while paling in comparison to any vampire in existence, is still a beautiful woman. Edward inherited her eyes, while that unusual shade of hair of his came from his father. I found myself staring a little too long and somewhat unnervingly at Edward Sr. After all, he's the crystal ball to a physical age Edward will never become. It almost makes me want to wait until he is in his mid-twenties to change him. If his father is anything to go by, manhood will be more than becoming on him. Edward mirrors his father in everything from height to bone structure, but while there's a spirit behind Edward's clear green eyes, his father's is almost overshadowed by weariness.

I'm beginning to suspect he's more unhappily married than first thought.

For company—which is a rare thing in our household given my aversion to the human race and my brother's penchant to obsess about feeding from them—Esme prefers to utilize the living room. That's where we're assembled; me and my parents, and Edward and his, seated on opposite sofas. Jasper is present, so is Alice; both are lurking in the shadows of the hall in the event my patience severs and I do something to out the family.

Esme served tea, and while Mr. and Mrs. Masen don't even bother touching theirs, Esme and Carlisle diligently suffer through the charade of drinking it.

"Can't she get an abortion?" Mrs. Masen charges in accusation, and the tone by which she spoke "she" immediately causes my back to straighten. She's not even bothering to hide her disdain for me, and my promise not to kill her is waning with every second that passes in her presence.

"We're keeping it," Edward mumbles, a little too submissively for me to reconcile with. He's been cowed by this vile woman, and I can barely stand it. How could she have such an effect on him? Not even I can claim that.

"You hardly know her!" she points out, but Edward, who obviously anticipated this from her, answers without hesitation.

"I've known her for years. I met her at camp and we kept in touch." Despite the fact that he speaks to the floor, he doesn't stutter, and I'm more than a little impressed. The kid can lie on cue and without blinking.

"You will ruin your entire life before you're barely out of high school!" she continues, lowering her voice as though speaking to him in confidence.

"Mom..." he complains. He's clearly embarrassed, but it's not enough to conceal how meek she's making him.

She's angled her entire body to fully face him now, while Edward is gingerly easing himself away. I'm not even sure if it's subconscious or not, but it almost suggests that she's been physically abusive to her son at some point in his life. And perhaps she still is.

One thing is absolutely certain, if she ever lays a hand on him, in my presence or elsewhere, her life will end before she can draw another breath.

His father has yet to speak a word. He only sits beside his wife, his head bowed against his outstretched hand. It's obvious who wears the pants in this family.

"Neither Edward nor Bella will have their lives ruined over this," Carlisle speaks up after patiently giving Elizabeth Masen a moment to collect herself. "Esme and I will not see to it. They will both be graduating this year, as well as going to college. Bella will be taking a year off to have the baby, but Edward will still be starting this fall. Wherever he's accepted is where we as a family will move."

"You plan on getting married then?" His mother practically balks as though it were the height of impropriety instead of the very opposite.

"Not right away," he answers, continuing to speak to the hardwood floor beneath his feet. He won't even look at me and it's becoming frustrating.

"Edward has stated a desire to move in with us to be with Bella and involved with the baby," Esme adds. She's aware of Edward as well, and while it's obvious she's less than impressed by Elizabeth's behavior, she forces herself to remain responsive and accommodating. I'm sure that smile she's plastered across her face has to be painful by now, though, "and her father and I are in full support."

"Is that what you want, Edward?" Mrs. Masen demands, but it sounds an awful lot more like a challenge, and I am three seconds from ripping her tongue out.

"Yes," he replies without hesitation, his gaze remaining lowered.

"Look at me!" she asserts, and he instantly obeys. "Is that what you _really_ want?"

"Yes," he repeats that same single word, his tone remaining flat. He blinks, and that's when I notice it. The fingers on his mother's right hand twitch ever so slightly, but enough for my senses to catch it.

Had he been anywhere but in this room, in the company of my parents, she would have slapped him—of that I'm certain.

So is Esme.

"He's free to move in as soon as he wishes," she adds, pursing her lips, as her tone edges with the barest hint of authority. The warden is front and center, and it's a sight to behold when it's not for my benefit.

"No. I won't have it," Elizabeth decides, sucking her breath in through her nose as some kind of added measure, while her mute husband beside her sighs openly to himself.

"Dear, he's not a child. If this is what he wants, we can't stop him." The poor man sounds fatigued, and I'd wager he's used to being tied to his wife's apron strings.

"He's our son and making _another_ grave mistake!" She comes infinitely close to shrieking.

Edward cringes; though, it's obvious her choice of words was the main cause of it.

_Another_ mistake.

"Are you even certain it's yours, Edward?! It could be—"

My head darts in her direction so rapidly, I'm certain for a moment Mr. Masen noticed.

"_Mom_—"

"I _beg_ your pardon?" I burst practically through clenched teeth cutting Edward off, and beside me, Esme clamps her hand tightly around mine in a feeble attempt to restrain me. She's aware of the anger beginning to boil over skin deep, despite the conscious effort I'm making to suppress it.

"Bella..." Carlisle cautions me softly, raising his brows to further stress his point.

Practically growling beneath my breath, I tear my gaze from his and catch Edward's. His eyes are imploring and flooding with the same culpability he had when he told me about Bree.

"I'm so sorry," he mouths, before he inevitably drops his head.

"All I'm saying is—"

"_Mrs. Masen_," Esme immediately breaks in, only to scoff beneath her breath in complete disbelief. Nothing usually surprises Esme, but it's obvious she's growing as equally irate as I am.

"I'd like a paternity test," the vile women continues to rant, before her husband has the good sense to step in.

"Bess, _please_..."

"I'm _only_ trying to protect my son!" she asserts, but Esme is having none of it.

The discussion between them turns almost heated and barely restrained, with no arbitration from Carlisle. He simply sits as an audience to it, as does Edward Sr., but my focus is already beyond them all.

Edward remains sitting tense beside his mother, massaging his heavily knotted brow with the tips of his fingers. He's very clearly upset, but he also appears almost frustrated at himself. It's a side of him I haven't seen before, and nor do I like it.

_Edward! _I lower my shield and call his name through my thoughts.

He hears me, and very discreetly his eyes rise to meet mine.

I shake my head in an effort to reassure him. He smiles in response, but while it's overrun with guilt, it's still unlike him. He's resigned and what's evident is he's trapped by the mental suffering his mother is inflicting upon him. All I can conceive of is relieving him from it.

I pull myself to my feet so abruptly it causes not only both my parents to start but Edward, as well.

"Yes, I'm pregnant," I state defiantly, turning to stare down at this bitter, old crone and willing her to challenge me, "yes, I'm keeping it, and _yes_, Edward and I will be _shacking up_—"

"Bella!" Esme immediately reprimands me, while on the third floor I clearly make out the sounds of both Rose and Emmett snickering. Worse still, is the fact that I'm almost certain a grin briefly twitches on Edward Sr.'s lips. Edward only appears apprehensive, but he has the good sense to. Had this repulsive woman been anyone else but Edward's mother she'd already be dead.

"I'm not about to stand around while this woman insults me!" I unapologetically state my case, folding my arms across my chest.

"Is this the kind of disrespectful girl you're raising?!" Elizabeth snaps, obviously seeing her opening to triumph over us. "Well, it all makes perfect sense, now."

"Now, wait a minute!" Esme immediately interjects. Her mothering has been called into question, and as Frizz Perm would say, _shit's about to get real_.

"Darling," Carlisle speaks in his smoothest placating tone, resting his hand over hers.

My mother sniffs, her offense simmering over, but releasing her breath, she lets whatever sharp-tonged retort she was about to let loose go. "I'm fine," she whispers in a tone Edward's mother can't hear.

"Edward?" I draw his attention, and when his eyes snap back to mine, I hold out my hand. "Let's go."

"Stay where you are, Edward!" his mother immediately counters, but once again—and very luckily for him—he doesn't waver.

The lines are drawn and Edward has long since chosen sides.

Rising to his feet, he moves beside me and entangles his long fingers around mine, and the relief running through him is almost tangible. "Sorry, Mom. I'm in love with Bella, and we're doing this," he turns to her and forthrightly states, and while his voice slightly tremors, he's as equally determined.

I'm monumentally proud of him, but had he chosen to obey his mother, I may have very nearly killed them both.

"I think he's made up his mind, Bess," Edward Sr. says regrettably, but I'm almost certain it's not over his son's future, but the impending doom of what he'll face alone with her tonight.

I almost want to save Edward's likeness from the misery of it, and I'm not certain I won't.

"I see," she speaks in deliberate emphasis, her voice like acid. "Well, I for one, want no part of it!" Pulling herself dramatically to her feet, she throws her purse over her shoulder. "If this is the path you've chosen, Edward, you'll no longer be welcome at our home _or_ in our family"—Esme gasps, but then such a notion is beyond her comprehension—"is that clear?"

"It's clear," he answers softly, maintaining eye-contact for no longer than a second before he breaks it.

"I'll see you soon, son," Senior offers his hand to Edward, who takes it easily. It's clear his relationship with his father is the polar opposite to that of his mother, but it still doesn't excuse his father's passive weakness when it comes to his spouse's behavior.

"Bye, Dad," Edward replies, before I pull him behind me from the room.

I don't stop until we're in mine, slamming the door behind me.

"I'm...fuck!" Edward mutters, dropping his chin to his chest and dragging his fingers through his hair. "I'm such a pussy."

"No, you're not," I reply with more patience than I was expecting.

He tilts his head until his eyes catch mine. "I should never have allowed—"

"What did she do to you?" I ask candidly, cutting him off.

"Nothing." He jerks his shoulder. He's annoyed, but the way his face boldly flashes alludes to something more. "God...she's just a bitch."

That wasn't the word he wanted to use, but I don't press him on it. "What I find concerning, Edward, is you're more afraid of her than you are of me." I raise a pointed brow, but with the unpleasantness of his mother already behind him, he breaks into a completely boyish grin.

"She's evil. You're not."

"You've lost your faculties—_be quiet_!" I warn him after he brings it to my attention by way of that smirk of his.

It's unfathomable how much power he has over me by just a single smile.

Taking a single step toward me, he encloses me in his arms and draws me against his chest.

I allow myself to go almost fluid as my breath gushes from between my lips. "Want me to kill her?" I murmur.

He laughs, and I close my eyes to the sensation of it rocking gently from his chest. "Maybe another time. Bella...?"

"Hmm?"

"So, I live here now, right?"

"You live here now," I confirm simply.

"With you? In here?" he pulls back to gauge my response, and I roll my eyes at how innocent he's still so capable of being.

"Wherever you want."

His grin broadens before he again pulls me to him and rests his lips to the top my head. "Good. _Fuck_..." He takes a breath and sighs heavily with it.

"Hmm?"

"I didn't think it'd ever happen," he elaborates, the disbelief and awe in is voice this time palpable.

I pause for a moment and reflect upon it. Guilt is again at the forefront of my emotions. Guilt for a human. It still seems unfathomable to me, but I often forget that Edward_ is_ a human. To me, he's simply my mate. "I've treated you so atrociously, Edward. I don't know how you can ever forgive me."

"Yeah, you have," he agrees lightly, but there's a discernible teasing behind his voice that makes the smile immediately spread across my face, "but I forgive you."

"You confounding boy," I murmur, turning to press my face flush to the hardness of his chest.

**. . .**

By morning, all of Edward's belongings are transferred from his room to mine, or rather _ours_.

Emmett and Jasper were responsible for it, and while Edward was adamant about going, I wasn't prepared to risk slaughtering his mother if she caught him in the house.

Naturally, Esme self-appointed herself the interior designer, and after practically shoving me and Edward out the door, she threw herself gleefully into it. We returned before dawn, where I realized my room has now become as unrecognizable as my life.

Gracing the shelves alongside my collection of books, is Edward's music, both CDs and vinyl, while adjacent my desk sits a Yamaha keyboard. Not to mention an acoustic guitar, an iMac computer, a fifty-five inch television, a PlayStation console, scores of games, and an obscenely loud-looking bright red gaming chair.

For several moments, I can only stare around my now unfamiliar surroundings unsure how I feel.

My comfort zone has been compromised by the very kind of human I spent the better part of sixty years murdering.

The very same kind of human I've found myself unwittingly in love with.

"We can't stay here," I inform my mother before we leave for school.

I knew it was inevitable but naively thought it was still safely off in the distant future. That all changed when, in the cramped front seat of my Mustang, I very nearly allowed Edward to cross a certain threshold I had previously guarded with my life. He got my clothes off me, and in the process, came infinitely close to breaking through every barrier I'd stubbornly held in place when it came him.

What cemented it was the fact that not only was my restraint implacable, but I actually found myself becoming too caught up in it with him. He wasn't in danger, but I most definitely was.

That's when I realized we need our own space.

I ambushed Esme in the kitchen cleaning up after Edward's breakfast. She turned to me, dish cloth draped over her shoulder again like she stepped straight out of a Good Housekeeping magazine circa 1952; only her eyes were wide and more than a little pained. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, _not in the house_," I'm forced to clarify to spare her feelings. "He wants to do all kinds of..._carnal things to me_," I practically strangle out even as my mortified expression gives me away and a smirk twitches on my mother's lips, "and under this roof it will be unbearable."

"Ahhh..." my mother responds in understanding, an uncomfortable level of innuendo behind her tone. "It's in the works. Can you hold off for another month?" she puts to me with entirely too much innocence.

"_What's_ in the works...?" I ask after gauging her for several suspicious seconds.

"It's a surprise." She grins secretively to herself, her shoulders rising with her obvious enthusiasm.

"We going?" Edward arrives in the room and drapes a heavy arm around my shoulders. "Hey, thanks again for the breakfast, Mrs. Cullen," he adds after noticing my mother.

"You're welcome, sweetheart," Esme practically croons, and with an impatient sigh, I grab Edward's hand—that's hanging a little too conveniently near my right breast—and pull him from the room.

School for another four months until Edward graduates. School for another four months while I'm pretending to be pregnant.

The first week passes benignly enough. Edward only sleeps half the time. He's still tapering and therefore still has a certain addiction to my blood. Carlisle's been treating him by injecting him with it, condensed with saline. Each day he reduces the amount, but dividing already infinitesimal amounts of my blood isn't exactly easy, and he spends almost as much time in his clinic at the house preparing Edward's shots as he does at work.

My father's words still hang heavily over me, and maybe that's why I've stopped fighting Edward. I've stopped fighting him on every level, and I didn't realize how emancipating it is to not have to constantly remind myself that he's from the generation of humans I despise. That I still despise, but I don't think that will ever fade. It was the crux behind my transformation, the defining moment. I was the ugly, awkward girl, murdered by the beautiful, popular teenagers.

I might have stopped fighting Edward when it comes to being physically intimate with him, but I'm beginning to think fighting _with him_ in general will always be a constant. Our personalities more often than not clash, and the third week of Edward being an official member of our coven is when the reality of living with a human begins to set in.

While he's no longer just a guest in our home, he begins to get a little too comfortable. He's messy, I'm neat, and he has a habit of leaving half-eaten food strewn throughout my room until the smell borders nauseating. While I can sit for hours in quiet solitude, Edward is a talker who enjoys constant noise. If he's not chatting my ear off, he's blasting out his grotesquely offensive music, thumping away on his keyboard playing mind-numbing video game scores, or yelling out obscenities at his television as he throws himself into virtual reality. Even when he sleeps, I get no rest from it, because he does so with his music playing in the background.

This is on top of him constantly accosting me for sex. Not that I'm in complete opposition to that one, but altogether, I do not get a moment's peace.

I last a further eleven days before my patience officially severs, and walking over to where his gaming system is set up intrusively in the center of my room, I pull the plug. Literally.

"_Out_!' I holler throwing it to the ground and directing my finger toward the door.

He drops the PlayStation controller he's clutching, and angles his chair to me in complete surprise. "...Huh?"

"Get out!"

"W-what have I done?" he stammers in confusion.

"I cannot stand you or these asinine hobbies of yours for another second!" I burst, and turning my back to him, I tear his television from my wall leaving a gaping hole through it in my wake. "So, _GET OUT_!"

For the longest period he stares at the destruction I caused, his eyes wide below his heavily knotted brow. Fixing his gaze back to me, he pulls himself to his feet, standing ten inches over me before he folds his arms meticulously across his chest. "This is my room, too," he challenges me.

"Not anymore." I'm adamant

"Bella—"

"OUT!" I repeat myself, my voice reaching a higher tenor, but I sound a lot more exasperated than I do threatening; which is essentially what I am.

"Nope," he stubbornly counters. "You're stuck with me, gorgeous." He winks, because he's long since known that he can charm the cold-blooded killer in an instant with a single raise of his eyebrow.

I drop my head to my splayed palm in defeat and come infinitely close to groaning. I am nearing eighty-six years old and I am sharing my space with a teenager. We might be mates who share an unparalleled connection, but in every other aspect of life we are incompatible; this was inevitable.

"You need your own room," I decide, turning to exit mine when Edward reaches out and grabs my elbow.

"Wait a minute!" he protests.

"You're driving me insane!" I snap after whipping my head back to face him.

"You know what I'm like," he argues back, and he has a point. I do.

"And you know what _I'm_ like," I respond in kind.

"So, not even a month and you're kicking me out," he states, clearly wounded by my actions. "How are you going to handle me for eternity?"

"I have _zero_ idea," I reply dryly.

He rolls his eyes; he does that a lot nowadays. "Nice."

"Stop pouting." I huff.

"_Pouting_?" he charges back. "Who was it who threw a tantrum and broke my TV?" he tilts his head in reference to his now smoking electronic set-up.

"Be grateful it wasn't your neck," I mutter, curving my hand to my forehead and once again turning my back on him.

He _tsks_; it's something _else_ he does in response to me. "You can buy me a new one."

"Buy it yourself," I retort. As a fully-fledged member of our family, he now has access to all our accumulated wealth, so nothing's stopping him.

"Bell—"

I leave before my name passes his lips and before he can stop me.

I barge into Rose and Emmett's room without bothering to knock. They're lying tangled together in the guise of sleep on Rose's Victorian-era chase.

"Emmett, move his stuff into the spare room!" I demand.

"Stop being a pain in the ass, Bella," he mumbles behind closed eyes.

"Rose?" I petition, turning hopefully to her.

She sighs dramatically and squints over at me as though she's just woken up. "You have no choice but to get used to him."

"In which case, I'll have no choice but to kill him!" I cross my arms over my chest with impatience. I cannot comprehend the idea of this being my life for the next god knows how many decades.

"You think we're not privy to every sound he makes, as well?" She arches a brow in emphasis. "He's like living with a hurricane."

"You're several rooms away, at least. _I'm_ right on top of him," I point out.

"What exactly do you want me to do?" she asks, huffing shortly this time. "In a few years he'll mature. He won't be like this forever."

"He's so..._nineteen_!" I burst, practically laughing humorlessly to myself. _Of course_, he's nineteen. How that ever escaped my attention even for a moment is beyond me. "I am so screwed..." I mutter in complete resignation, hanging my head lowly.

Never in close to ninety years have I ever felt so wearied.

"You might feel differently if that were _literally_ the case," Emmett adds, opening his eyes and throwing me a devilish grin.

"Em's right," Rose immediately backs him up before I can react to it. "You're not frustrated at him per say. You're _sexually_ frustrated, and this is how it's manifesting."

I harrumph obnoxiously and open my mouth to contradict her, when she quickly continues.

"Put yourself, him, and all of us, out of misery, Bella. _Have. Sex. With. Him_." She speaks in deliberate monotone for added measure; it's Rose's way of expressing how tedious she's finding a situation.

"Fine!" I concede, my frustration flaring again, because the bitch is right; all three of us are aware of it. "Come on, then?"

"Come..._where_?" she puts to me, eyeing me warily.

"I need to get drunk."

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**A/N: Thanks for reading. **


	32. Chapter 31

**A/N: I never know what to write in these things. Maybe I should just put what I write in birthday cards: "Have a good one."**  
**Anywho, thanks to Kim and Melinda, and all those who are nice enough to fave and leave me your thoughts. I hope you enjoy, and I've added a small outtake at the bottom. It was from just after she killed James. I just found it and laughed. I'm not sure that's a good thing lol idk...**  
**MWAH xoxo**

* * *

**Black Swan**

**Chapter 31**

"How do I not kill him?" I wonder out loud as Rose and I head back home.

After happening upon more than the average amount of drunken vagrants in Port Angeles, we're both suitably buzzed. More so, in fact, than I've been in a very long time. Fresh, hot, alcohol-tainted blood is coursing through my veins, making me so glutted and relaxed I almost feel as though I'm oozing out of my skin.

I have two hours before my skin will cool, possibly three. After, if I want to stay this temperature, I'll have to feed from Edward.

"Let him take charge and lie back and enjoy it," Rose answers simply, before notably clearing her throat.

I glance over at her and break into an immediate smirk; her cheeks are flushing subtly and she keeps drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, while her hands are clamped a little too tightly around the steering wheel. She's as horny as I am, and more than likely, the reason why she's doing close to ninety miles per hour.

It's one of the perks of being a vampire; after feeding all our instincts and impulses are enhanced and sexual arousal is no exception. Alcohol only exacerbates it that little bit extra.

"If I grab hold of him in the midst of it, I'll break his bones," I force myself back down to earth. It's so effortless to lose myself in the whims of my own body and what Edward's increasingly bringing out in me.

"Then _grab hold_ of the bedsheets instead," she suggests, her tone dry.

"I'll bite him," I point out, because it's a reflex. And a definite.

"So, you bite him," she replies, releasing her hand from the wheel to wave it offhandedly.

"A split second, that's all it'll take to unwittingly kill him. Plus, this is the worst possible timing—he's still weening from my blood."

She sighs pointedly and with deliberate emphasis; she thinks I'm overreacting. "Alice has repeatedly reassured you that the danger has passed. You can turn Edward at any time now. If you did _that_ tonight, tomorrow you could be enjoying him as your true equal."

"I'm _not_ living with a teenager for eternity."

It's been my standard answer these past several months as to why I'm delaying turning Edward, but the real reason is anything but straightforward. The fear I have that he'll awaken without any regard for me it's what's really behind my reluctance.

"Says the spring chicken, herself," Rose replies, quirking a dubious brow.

I break into a grin, happy to rid myself of these dark thoughts that are creeping into my subconscious more often lately. "As a seventeen year old, I was very mature." She only snorts skeptically, and leaning toward her I flick her earlobe playfully. "Teenagers today are barely one step up from being a fetus," I conclude, and this time she chuckles lightly.

"I'm inclined to agree. I mean, the _vomiter_...?" She turns to me with a grimace, and we both burst into a fit of giggling. "But your little red herring is..._grounded_." She sticks with the same adjective she's always maintained applies to him.

"He is," I'm forced to admit. "In a sense." Because he's still so painfully young.

"So, how much do you expect him to mature before June?" she puts to me, and I understand her point; it just doesn't apply where my insecurities are concerned.

God, I hate this, and it only appears more amplified drunk.

I still find it hard to fathom that I'm flooding with self-doubt all because of a human. Right now, he's infatuated with me, and I'm almost ashamed to admit I enjoy it. My singer, or not, imprint, or not, his transformation will reveal his true heart, and I might not find myself in it.

"Carlisle wants him to graduate first," I go with another, more practical, angle.

"Mm-hmm," she says, not even minimally convinced.

"Do you always have to be such a cow?" I tease her good-naturedly. "Though, I would actually like to let him age a few more years. That boy really needs to be refined."

"Hmm..." she hums in agreement this time. "He _is_ a very pretty human, I'll give you that. His smile is just outright adorable."

"I'd rather not be reminded," I mutter, even as I'm fighting my own. "I'm frequently losing my head because of it."

She breaks into a full grin and lightly shakes her head. "A year ago, if anyone told me I'd be having this conversation with you, I'd think they were out of their wits."

"That only applies to me," I murmur. The truth is, I'm fully out of my mind because of this human, and accepting it has only made it that much more confusing.

**. . .**

"Okay, bitch," Rose begins after we both exit her Merc. She walks with unsteady steps toward me, and places both hands momentarily to my shoulders, "take these." She hands me her car keys, holding them up by the brass key to the small cottage she and Emmett own on the edge of town. To date, I'm the only vampire in our family who's never had a secondary residence, but then I've never needed one before now. "But make sure you wash the sheets after." She winks this time, her amusement at my predicament written brazenly across her face.

"Oh, god, I'm not so sure about this," I moan. I take them regardless, as even I allow my head to hang low for a moment; I'm just as eager as I am reluctant. It's a very strange but frequently familiar combination.

"Shut up, stop questioning and fuck him repeatedly. Then, in the morning, I want you to explain the real reason why you don't want to turn him yet. Mm-kay?" Even as drunk as she is, the wench's perception is not compromised. She knows me only too well.

"There is no _real_ _reason_," I futilely attempt to mock her, but she only closes her eyes and shakes her head pointedly. "Would you get inside?" I burst with too much affection behind my voice for her.

"I'm going to give them all a hell-of-a show tonight." She winks again, her expression this time shrewd, before turning to stagger up the porch stairs. "Emmy bear, I'm coming!"

She passes Edward, who emerges from the house, his head submissively lowered and both hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans.

"Hey," he mumbles, stopping six feet before me, his eyes fixed to the pavement underfoot. "I'm sorry, Bella. I treat your room...like shit."

"Would you shut up!?" I echo Rose's sentiment, my voice slightly slurring as I hold my hand out to him.

He glances up in surprise, but doesn't move to take it. "Are you drunk?"

With as much dexterity as Rose just demonstrated, I slide up against him just as his arms spring out immediately to steady me. "I'm drunk, and _warm_," I utter with deliberate emphasis. "_Feel_..." Grabbing his hand, I plant it to my chest.

"Uh..." A dazed, disjointed utterance bursts from him, just as I catch the scent of his heated blood accumulating in his groin. "Y-you're warm."

"Hmm...I'm going to give you one wish," I slide my index finger along his sharply angled jaw and flick his chin, "so decide wisely."

"Bella..." He frowns and glances away, even as the heat spreads out and floods up his neck and cheeks.

"Hmm?" Pressing my body flush with his I angle my head to take a deeper whiff of that oh-so potent river of life that connects him to me. I moan languidly, only half beneath my breath.

"You're drunk," he states the obvious, releasing a hand from around me and sliding it awkwardly to the nape of his neck.

"...And?" I question.

"I'm...not going to take advantage of you," he explains, scoffing almost ruefully. "You'll kill me."

I laugh lightly, because even now he can be so innocent; so naïve. "Oh, Edward, you're still fooled by the illusion."

"I'm not fooled," he says quietly in a tone that suggests I've offended him.

"You honestly think you can take advantage of me? Hm?" I lean back and glance up at him through my lashes, being deliberately coy.

"I mean, not physically," he amends, swallowing thickly.

"Your chivalry is commendable, bucko," I say, grabbing hold of him just as I'm assaulted by a sudden wave of vertigo. I immediately jolt, and it does nothing but contradict me, "b-but every minute..." I stammer, before pausing to pull myself hastily together. "But every minute you stand here being a gentleman, is one less minute of body heat I'll have."

He expels a confused-sounding breath. "Why did you get drunk?"

I echo him, but it falls minimally short of exasperation. "So, I'd be relaxed enough not to accidentally break you neck, of course."

"You want to...have sex?" his voice lowers, and his eyes widen in obvious disbelief. "Really?"

"Yes, _really_," my voice takes on a droll edge.

"Why now?" He's evidently not convinced, and I come infinitely close to laughing without a shred of humor from the sheer irony of it.

"Why not?"

"You sure?"

I sigh again with sentiments of impatience this time. "Do I ever say anything I don't mean, Edward?"

He pauses to consider it, just as the smallest hint of a smirk tugs on hips lips. "You don't."

"So, is that a yes?" I put to him, both eyebrows raising high. If he rejects me, I might have to kill him. At the very least maim him.

"Of course it's a yes." He doesn't hesitate to answer, as that smirk of his becomes full-fledged. "Where we going?" He glances at Rose's red Merc with considerable interest.

"I'll tell you on the way," I answer. "Get in."

"How the hell can you drive as drunk as you are?" he asks not five minutes into the trip out of Forks. He's surprised again. Even now.

I sigh, rather patiently all things considered; which is exactly why I got drunk in the first place. "There's those illusions again..."

"Huh...?"

"At least you didn't tell me you forgot," I tease him, turning to him with a wink.

His grin broadens for a moment, but it's obvious he's still confused. "And you say I play word games."

I sigh a third time; unequivocally not as patient. "You're equating a drunk vampire with a drunk human."

He observes me for a moment, so much so that I turn and raise my eyebrows in question.

He breaks into that boyish smile of his again, but it's not as if he hasn't been grinning like a lunatic the moment he pulled himself in the car. "Bella...?"

"Hmm?" I turn my gaze back to the stretch of road before us.

"Are vampires really immortal?—meaning, can they live for all eternity?" he hastily adds as I open my mouth to answer.

"Well," I begin, taking a sharp right on Sitkum Solduc Road, "Carlisle has a theory that we max-out somewhere between eight and ten thousand years."

"Max out?" he echoes.

"Die of old age," I answer in lay terms. "Unless we're killed beforehand."

"Yeah?" He takes a moment to contemplate it. "Huh."

"It's just a theory," I remind him.

"What makes him think that?"

"According to a lot of records, vampires of that age simply...died. There's a lot of mystery surrounding it, though. Again, just a theory."

"I kinda like that idea," he muses, and I turn to him quirking a brow. "Imagine living a million years. The human race would have evolved and we'd...still be the same. No way you could pass if you essentially looked like a Neanderthal. Dying after ten thousand years would mean you'd still witness history, so..." He shrugs both shoulders.

"True," I acknowledge.

"And living for that long _would_ feel like forever," he adds.

"It would." I break into a small smile; he notices.

"Why is that funny?"

"It isn't."

"Bella...?"

I release my breath minimally to myself, even as my smile inches broader. He's like a child sometimes and he still speaks my name more than necessary. "Edward."

"Do you believe in life after death?"

"Souls, you mean?" I glance at him, and he nods to the affirmative. "Hmm...I don't really know. Do you?"

"Yeah," he answers simply. "I kinda get to cheat, though."

"Meaning?" I ask after gauging him again for a moment.

"I see it in people's minds."

"_What_ do you see?" I'm suddenly curious.

"Um...well, I met this woman a few years ago. She was some kind of medium, and I saw all the crazy shit she'd seen. That kinda thing." He shrugs again, one-shouldered.

"Do your parents know?—that you can read minds?"

"No." He snorts as if the idea were ludicrous. "Knowing my mother, she'd use it to her advantage. Probably haul my ass to Vegas."

"Does she slap you when she's angry at you?" I change the subject, deliberately keeping my tone even.

"Sometimes," he replies, not sounding the least bit maladjusted by it. "If she thinks I'm being_ insolent_." He quotes with his fingers as his grin reappears.

"She's lucky I don't tear her head off," I mutter.

"Huh?" He didn't hear me; it's just as well.

"Does she slap your father, too?"

"When they fight—which is _always_." He rolls his eyes this time. "Sure we won't end up like that after twenty years."

I scoff softly to myself and fight to push my grin back. "Positive."

"So, there's no _domestic violence_ in the vampire world?" he asks, and by his tone he's not serious.

"There is. We came from humans, don't forget." I keep my eyes ahead of me, keeping watch for the obscured dirt road that leads to Emmett and Rose's cabin.

"So...Emmett could beat the shit out of Rose if he wanted to?"

His question is harmless, but I still whip my head toward him on reflex and come infinitely close to growling. "I'd kill him."

"I..._sorry_..." he utters obviously taken aback by my reaction.

I expel a conceding breath and shake such things from my thoughts. "He could, but he never would. When vampires are mated, they'd kill to protect each other. It's one of our deepest instincts. Some vampiresare monsters, though, and they'll use their strength and dominance over another and brutalize them the same way they would humans."

"Is that allowed?" he puts to me, his voice remaining apprehensive.

"No, but it's not allowed in the human world, either. Does that stop them?" I ask, again turning to glance at him.

"Good point," he murmurs. "I'd never do that to you, Bella. You know that, right?" He appears so earnest that it's hard not to laugh; despite knowing he's serious.

"This again?" I say, groaning lightly.

"...What?"

"I explained it, already. I'd be very surprised if you were stronger than me—for one. And two, you wouldn't be able to hurt me if you wanted to. It would go against your very nature."

"Ahh, so that's why..." he comes to some sort of conclusion; one I'm clearly not aware of.

"That's why _what_?" I question.

"When you stopped seeing me as a human and started seeing me as your mate. You stopped trying to kill me," he points out just as my mouth falls open.

I never thought of it like that before, but he's absolutely right. Not that I could ever kill him to begin with.

**. . .**

On the rocky bank of the Calawah River, nestled among the various spruce and fir trees at the base of the Olympic Mountains, roughly seven miles east of Forks, is Rose and Emmett's wood cottage. It was once a rundown hunter's cabin that Carlisle purchased at the same time as the main house, and while Rose, Emmett and I were maintaining the charade at school, Esme renovated and decorated it to how it stands today.

It sits dark in the sparse light of the semi-concealed moon that if you weren't looking for it you could easily pass it by. Clumps of snow litter its surroundings, glowing eerily and revealing a natural forest path off the makeshift road to the rear entrance; the front overlooks the river off a large deck.

"We here?" Edward asks, peering through the window to the darkened surroundings beyond.

"We're here." Pulling the handbrake, I exit the car. Edward follows, immediately making his way over to me and enclosing me in his arms. He's cold, and as confounding as he is, he more than likely believes the same is true for me. "Come on."

Being as removed from civilization as it is, all power is run by a gas-fueled industrial generator, and after locating it just off to the side in a small clearing, I switch it on. The house immediately lights up, from the exterior porch lights and fairy lights that run along the eaves, to the warm yellow glow of the interior.

"Wow, this is great," Edward notes, shuddering into his sweater as I grab his hand and hastily pull him up the few stairs to the deck and through the rear door. It's February and while I can't feel the chill air, I'm not ignorant to what it's doing to him.

The cottage is cozy, and consists of a living room, bedroom and small bath. Esme plastered the walls and decorated it with temperate earth tones, complete with hard wood floors and exposed timber beams along the vaulted ceilings. Two large, wood-burning fireplaces adorns both rooms; I light the living first, and give Edward a moment as he holds out his hands to absorb the heat.

"This way." I turn and lead him to the bedroom.

It's roughly the same size as mine with French doors that open to the decking. It's furnished with a king size wood canopy bed, matching dresser and side tables, and two armchairs. A wrought iron six-candle chandelier hangs from the ceiling, while the bedding is gold silk; which is typically Rose. The theme runs throughout the interior from the curtains to the rugs and various adornments.

I pause at the door as Edward moves in behind me, curling his arms around my shoulders.

I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation of being cloaked in his body heat, as he takes an audible breath and releases it into a long hum.

"You warm?" I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder.

"I'm warm," he assures me, flashing me a responsive smile before he squeezes me gently and walks into the room. "So...Rose likes to get married, huh?" He tilts his head in reference to the three black and white silhouette canvasses of Rose and Emmett's weddings that line the wall opposite the bed.

"She does," I reply, breaking into a knowing grin. "We'll probably be attending another one soon."

"That's...so lame," he says, half laughing beneath his breath.

"It is," I agree, my voice softening as I hold my hand out to him.

"We're really doing this?" he asks, taking it and tugging me closer to him.

"We're really doing it," I confirm.

"How long will you be this warm?" His eyes lower as his hand runs slowly along my forearm.

"Two hours at the most."

"That all?" His gaze returns to mine where he all but frowns in disappointment.

"I'd have to take your blood to make it last longer," I explain, reaching out and gripping his sweater in both my fists.

"You haven't done that in a while," he murmurs, leaning back to brush a strand of my hair out of my eyelashes with his fingers. They're overly warm, and his body temperature is climbing so rapidly I can practically taste the sweetness of his blood in the air between us.

"Because Carlisle would have killed me," I say wryly as he chuckles softly.

"I only have a few shots left, he thinks," he discloses, bending down to plant his lips to my hairline.

"If I have to heal you it will put you straight back at the beginning," I warn him, closing my eyes as he proceeds to drag his nose across my face.

"I don't care..." His voice turns husky before he closes his mouth over mine.

"Wait," I utter against his lips, wedging my palm into his chest. "We might need a...safe word."

"A safe word?" he echoes dubiously, a shrewdness to his cocked brow. "Exactly what kind of kinky shit do you want to do?"

I huff, positive my blood is rushing to my cheeks. "_Funny_. I mean, in case...I hurt you," I clarify, bowing my head to rub my forehead. I wasn't expecting it to be awkward; I definitely don't do awkward.

"If you hurt me I'll tell you," he replies with laughter in his voice. "We don't need a safe word."

"Are you...? I mean... Okay," I concede, rubbing my eyes this time.

"Bella...?" he begins apprehensively, when I snap my head up.

"Also, I know it's customary for humans to kiss with their tongues, but when I'm—my fangs will be drawn and if you get your tongue anywhere near them, they'll slice it open. And if I get your blood in my mouth—"

"Um, wow, this is a really hot conversation," he jokes, and when I meet his gaze again he laughs. "Are you stalling?"

"I'm _not_ stalling. I'm concerned I'll kill you," I reply, beginning to feel flustered. Maybe I am stalling...

"You won't kill me," he assures me with entirely too much confidence.

"And you're sure about that, are you?"

"You told me yourself—it will go against your nature."

With a sigh, I drop my brow momentarily into my palm. This exasperation was something I was never prone to before meeting Edward. I'm beginning to feel like Esme. "I couldn't _deliberately_ harm you. _Accidentally_ is a whole other story."

He does his trademark shoulder jerk and breaks into the very same grin Rose spoke of earlier—askew, toothy and ridiculous how adorable it is. "Bella, come on. I know what happens when you get horny. The fangs come out. I get it."

"_Horny_? That word is so uncouth!" I protest even as he flashes me that perplexed expression intermingled with his continued amusement at my expense.

"Uncouth?—actually, how sharp, are they?" He veers back suddenly curious; enough that I can only gauge him for a second or two.

"Wanna test them out, do you?" I ask, breaking into a small smile.

His grin broadens and he tilts his head as though he's actually contemplating it. "I haven't seen them come out—"

"_Come out_?" I bring his odd choice of wording to his attention.

"You know what I mean. Not since that first day. Can you make them—"

"Of course I can." I come close to rolling my eyes, this time. Sometimes I'm positive he has some sort of attention deficit.

"Show me." His voice softens and I think he might be teasing me, but I really can't tell. This boy likes to play with me at the best of times.

"You really want me to show you?" I put to him, remaining unconvinced.

"Yeah," he answers simply, tilting his head as his shoulder once more rises.

"Alright then..." I relent, and sliding my hand over his shoulder to the side of his neck, I grip him firmly and draw him to me. Bringing my nose and lips to his throat, I allow my eyes to close and my senses to tune in to the tide flowing swiftly through his veins and pulsating against my flesh. The burning hunger comes, my mouth immediately waters and my fangs slowly descend. They lengthen roughly three-quarters of an inch further than my incisors, and when they're fully extended I pull back.

My lips are slightly parted, and with the oddest expression overrunning his face, Edward reaches out and runs his index finger along my bottom lip, lightly grazing my right fang.

For an unfathomable reason I feel suddenly exposed and grabbing his hand, I pull it clear. "Stop," I say softly, clamping my mouth tightly closed.

"Bella..." he whispers as an almost wounded passion reflects behind his eyes. "You're...you're beautiful."

I scoff at his naivety, and perhaps at my own continued surprise, as well. He's never reacted to me the way he's supposed to; the way I expect him to. He's never feared me. "I'm an imitation of the prey I hunt."

"But you're not," he insists, cupping his palm gently to my cheek and angling my head, forcing me to meet the intensity of his gaze. "You're what every human dreams of being."

I tug his hand down as an utterance bursts from me steeped in as much irony as disbelief. "You've bought into the illusion again, Edward. I am the perfect predator. That's all."

"_No_." His tone hardens, and he shakes his head in obvious frustration. "You're like...Mother Nature—beautiful and scary all wrapped up in this teeny, tiny body." A smile twitches on his lips, and I realize he's teasing me, attempting to lighten the mood from the gloomy direction I've taken it.

I expel a weary breath, wanting to laugh at the sheer hopelessness of how wholly and completely he's bewitched me. "You make me question, Edward, and I'm _not supposed_ to question." I'm honest, because it's the absolute truth. A vampire who questions is a vampire whose very continuity becomes compromised. "You have no idea how dangerous you are to me."

"Then change me, Bella!" he appeals to me, his eyes widening with a vulnerability he doesn't often show, as his palm returns to cup my cheek. "I know you don't want to be at school pretending to be pregnant, and I don't give a shit about graduating. I have ten thousand years to do it—I-I just want to get the fuck out of this town and disappear with you. Let's just run away—"

"Edward..." I break in softly, but he shakes his head again, stubbornly this time.

"Just please listen to me," he all but implores and I'm nodding my head in compliance before he can finish. He's so serious it's beginning to make me anxious; it's unlike him. He's always been the carefree, impulsive human. "That first day, I-I knew..."

"You knew?"

"I knew I'd be with you. _One_ of you..." His forehead bunches as though he can't make sense of his own words. "But then...that day you took me home to read Alice's mind. I _saw_."

"You saw?" I repeat blankly, beginning to feel almost disorientated. I want to believe I'm still drunk, but I was sober before we arrived here. "What—"

"I knew it would piss you off, so I lied, but...she's had visions of me as a vampire, and that day, the instant she looked at me, I saw."

"What did you see?" I ask in a whisper, my breath bated. I'm holding it and I'm not even certain why. I know of Alice's visions, so I can't comprehend why I'm so uneasy.

"Me...with red eyes."

* * *

**A/N: Will I write a lemon? That is the question... Thanks for reading.**

* * *

**This outtake is from chapter 18, just after Bella killed James and realised Edward had messaged him about her. It's not from this chapter. I confused everyone by not making this clear. Yeah, I'm an idiot.  
**

"What else am I supposed to call you when you're behaving like an infant?!"

"Pouting and fucking ignoring me all damn night is _more infantile_!" he counters, leaning toward me.

"Is this supposed to be threatening?" I bring it to his attention, pressing my finger against his chest.

"_What_?" he falters, appearing suddenly flustered. "How the _hell _could I threaten you?"

"Then get out of my damn space before I _make_ you!"

_Tsking_ bitterly, he takes a deliberate step back and folds his arms. "_Happy_?"

"Okay—tell me what the damn conversation was about!" I burst, conceding, knowing if I don't get this out of the way, it will only bring me more misery. "And hurry the hell up before I change my mind!"

"I'm not saying _anything_ while you're like this!" he fires back stubbornly, practically making me balk.

I take a very stiff, measured breath in a feeble effort to calm myself, and glare at him. "If you want to return home to your parents with you scrotum intact, I would strongly suggest you stop playing these games with me—_now_!"

He only stares at me, and I watch with absolute exasperating as his expression slowly relaxes until he actually appears to be fighting the urge to laugh. "You say the weirdest shit, sometimes."

"Do you want to die?" I warn him, not even remotely playing with him.

He scoffs with entirely too much arrogance. "You won't kill me."

"Oh, really?" I challenge him, and this time, it's me who takes a step toward him.

"You're in my space," he mocks me.

"GET OUT OF MY ROOM BEFORE I TEAR YOUR HEAD OFF!" I completely explode, pointing my finger toward the door as I all but quake with the anger beginning to course through me.

That's when Jasper and Emmett intervene, bursting into my room and immediately putting themselves between the two of us.

"Calm down, Bella," Emmett says, appearing amused by the whole situation.

"Stop overreacting," I snap, past patience, and not even remotely inclined to deal with them, on top of this completely annoying boy who is apparently my mate. "I'm not going to touch him!—do _not _say a word!" I immediately turn my attention to Edward, who's naturally smirking in some kind of triumph.

"I didn't say anything," he retorts, unable to conceal his satisfaction, and I realize I have to leave now before I really do inflict pain on him.

In the next instant, I'm racing down the stairs on my way out of the house, when I'm stopped by Mommy Dearest.

"See how fun it is to deal with a teenager..." she says, not-so-subtly clearing her throat in innuendo.

"If all you want to do is gloat, I don't want to hear it," I fume. "He needs to leave. Bringing him here is making him arrogant—I have _never_ tolerated _any_ boy speaking to me like this before."


End file.
